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SOULS IN KHAKI 



ARTHUR E. COPPING 



SOULS IN KHAKI 

BEING A PERSONAL INVESTIGATION INTO 

SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCES AND SOURCES 

OF HEROISM AMONG THE LADS IN THE 

FIRING LINE 



BY 

ARTHUR E. COPPING 

WITH A FOREWORD BY 

GENERAL BRAMWELL BOOTH 






HODDER & STOUGHTON 

NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






COPYRIGHT, 191 7, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



JUN 30 1917 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



©Ci, A 47 01 20 



FOREWORD 

BY GENERAL BOOTH 

War is a confession of failure — a failure to live 
even on the level of an intelligent humanity. It 
is, in fact, a descent into the realm of nature "red 
in tooth and claw" — the realm, that is, of the 
fighting beast. And the fighting beast at a time 
when we can only see blood-shot eyes and blood- 
stained lips. But even so, it is not wholly bestial; 
sentiments of mutual respect for desperate foes, 
some regard for courage and endurance, some 
admiration for sacrifice, remain. Men do not 
finally lose control of themselves even in battle, 
nor do they depart wholly from submitting to the 
control of others. 

The overwhelming sense of force and the appeal 
to force which takes possession of the mass in war 
and war time cannot destroy, may even encourage, 
the higher sense of the spiritual and the mystical. 
Men have said to me that in the very agony of 
conflict, and while the heavens were darkened with 
shot and shell and the earth itself shook under their 
feet, they have been more intimately conscious of 
the reality and presence of the Divine than in the 
quietude of normal life. I confidently anticipate 
that many men will return from their awful and 
cruel experiences of the war with a quickened sense 



vi FOREWORD 

of the supernatural, and with a new power to "lay 
hold" of the eternal things. 

And amid the abyssmal darkness in which the 
elemental forces rage and tear and slay, and while 
death — on a scale never before dreamed of — looks 
on, some other good things emerge and stand up 
and challenge. Love for country and human 
kind; love for home and wife and bairns — these 
are always to be found in every army, shining with 
a peculiar charm against the dark background of 
misery and hate. Love for God; love for good- 
ness; devotion to comrades even unto death; 
surrender to a great cause; personal sacrifice for 
another's life; — these also are among the sweet 
and flagrant flowers that bloom even upon the 
stricken fields of war. 

This little book, by a writer who describes what 
he himself has seen, and who has a gift both for 
the seeing and the describing, tells of some of those 
precious growths in the desert — few in number, no 
doubt, but so rich in their inherent force and beauty 
as to make the blood-stained wilderness blossom as 
the rose. For us of the Salvation Army the present 
fratricidal war is an inscrutable agony. Neverthe- 
less it may be that, when much that now fills with 
horror a world of woe has passed away for ever, 
gracious deeds and experiences such as are referred 
to in the following pages may still remain a precious 
and enduring heritage to all who believe in the 
grace of God and in the power of Love. 

International Headquarters of the Salvation Army, 
London, E.C. 
February 191 7. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Introduction . . . . i . xv 



CHAPTER I 

PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 

A church without laity — The sailor and the spar: superlative 
unselfishness — In British Army camps — Salvation Army 
huts — Human attitudes: natural and acquired — An inter- 
view in the scullery — The Adjutant's statistics — Sausages 
and pathos — A Scotchman's postponed decision — The sac- 
rifice and its sequel: testimony of the rescued sailor . 23 

CHAPTER II 

HERO AND SAINT 

Soldiers and Salvationists: the link of sympathy — Affectionate 
cookery — A subtle attraction — Chris Lovell — Sweethearts 
and the penitent-form — Serving in two armies — The love 
of life V. the power of compassion — A deed of double 

glory — Chris's radiant death 33 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

CHAPTER III 

FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 

PAGE 

A hero's midnight conversion — Kerbstone devotions — Instruc- 
tive boxing-gloves — A peace-loving lad as a fearless fight- 
er — Another glimpse of shipwrecked Brum: succouring the 
screaming boy — A cloud of Salvationist heroes — Godly 
men v. daredevils — The faith that knows no fear — A 
soldier lad and his frivolous mother — Bedside prayers in 
the men's quarters — Half-measures resented — Why? . . 46 

CHAPTER IV 

ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 

Civilian khaki — Repressed emotion at Victoria — Officers and 
their relatives — The mother: an incident — Thoughts on 
the train — Innocent hypocrites — The smell of the sea — An 
emotional reaction — High spirits afloat — England in France 
— A town's tribulation — Red Cross work: dramatic night 
scene — Unloading a hospital train — Smiles from a Salva- 
tion Army ambulance — Depressing stretcher cases — In- 
structive sitting cases — Thrilling fortitude . . , .60 

CHAPTER V 

VISITING THE WOUNDED 

In a transformed Casino — The man of many wounds: a smile 
framed by lint — Captors of the Bluff — Irrepressible in- 
valids — Map-making on a bed quilt — Heroes in their 



CONTENTS ix 



PAGE 



teens — A blushing British soldier — "We young chaps are 
just as brave" — Cuddling the Bible: a story left untold — A 
man without hands — The Salvationist lass and the cig- 
arette — Studies in gratitude — At the Canadian hospital — 
Death-bed rapture — Looking into a mother's eyes — Gasping 
and chatting — A letter to Aunt>' — Salvationist sisters: wel- 
come friends and messengers — Unselfish crusaders meet . 74 



CHAPTER VI 

FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 

A personal confession — Preliminary excursions from G.H.Q. — 
Graduated doses of danger — A disappointing hill — Shat- 
tered housefronts — Impressive preparations: maps, binocu- 
lars, and a lunch-basket — The fraternal War Correspon- 
dent — An unaltered countryside — Within sight and sound 
of gun-fire — Peace and War, mixed — Shells bursting over- 
head: a dainty spectacle — Our ascent of the Fosse — Watch- 
ing an air fight — Attentions from a German battery — Re- 
treating with the lunch-basket — A shower of bullets — 
Seeking shelter — Water tanks or gasometers? . . .84 

CHAPTER VII 

AMID STRAY BULLETS 

A cemetery by the sea — Standing amid regiments of crosses — 
Five coffins and some singing birds — Salvationists and the 
bereaved — Letters of passionate gratitude — Graves under 
fire — Smoking debris and stoical civilians — French village 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

or British citadel? — The old man and his garden — A de- 
molished church — The surviving Calvary — An astonished 
Colonel — The mortuary — Tommy's dinner — A crimson 
stain — Musical bullets — Hiding from a German airman — 
Inspecting a military post — The youthful O.C. — His damp 
dug-outs — Pathetic fruit trees — A startling British bat- 
tery — "Playing at soldiers": bright memories — ^Personal 
sensations 9^ 



CHAPTER VIII 

jimmy's OPPORTUNITY 

A costermonger and his comrades — "A button short" — ^EflFect of 
a first shell — In bombarded trenches — An impromptu re- 
ligious service — "God bless you, Jimmy" — Prayer and its 
fruits — "Mumming" a hymn — Men hungry, but not for 
meat — Resumed devotions — "Like being in Heaven" — The 
absentee — An unofficial chaplain — In the rest camp — A re- 
vival of bad language — Jimmy's venture — A remarkable 
gathering — Thirty converts — Nightly meetings of growing 
influence — An officer's testimony — Jimmy injured by liquid 
fire — His nev? appointment — Fish and chips 

CHAPTER IX 

HOLINESS AND HEROISM 

Attached to a battalion — The considerate Adjutant — My ser- 
vant — Taking meals with the subalterns — A mess joke — 
Story of an irate Major — Joseph's testimony — A Ramsgate 



CONTENTS xi 



PAGE 



Salvationist — My tent — Reading in bed — The salient at 
night — Memories of Tiberias — My unsuccessful petition — 
Transferred to another regiment — A friendly Quarter- 
master — Listening to the pipes — The Gay Gordons and 
their dead — Buttered toast from the Quartermaster-ser- 
geant — The spiritual experiences of Sergeant Withers — 
Living by faith under fire — Obstructed moonlight: an an- 
swer to prayer — The faithful Sergeant's splendid bravery 120 



CHAPTER X 

THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 

The Quartermaster's story — Seven hours of din and slaugh- 
ter — Mothering the prisoners — A Lieutenant's experiences: 
held, wounded, crippled, threatened, and cheerful — Con- 
cerning death: fallacies confuted by experience — Mrs. 
Booth and the Empress mourners — The best-liked man of 
the regiment — A War Cry monopoly — Droll adventure of 
the mascot — A gunner's eloquent silence — The Teetotal 
Division — No use for rum rations — The Quartermaster 
and the Salvation Army: an unexpected tribute — "My little 
red jersey" 130 

CHAPTER XI 

A VISIT TO YPRES 

The distraught-looking lunatic asylum — A civic nightmare — 
Arrested — Taken before the authorities — Permission to 
look round — A city of brand-new ruins — Shells prettily 



xii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

bursting— Skeleton walls and hillocks of debris— The song 
of the birds— Inside the wrecked cathedral— Unexploded 
shells— Looking for the Cloth Hall— A tour of private 
houses— Pathetic medley of domestic articles— The surviv- 
ing garden— Corporal Clegg and the wounded bird- Con- 
fidences in a church— His Salvationist associations— Ypres 
by moonlight— My droll predicament 141 



CHAPTER XII 

ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 

At Brigade Headquarters— A benign General— His hospitable 
offer— Out in the mist once more— My placid escorts- 
Confidence under fire— The workings of Divine Justice- 
Mud, rats, and bullets— Meeting sleepy Tommies— White 
crosses: an optical illusion— The sentry's challenge— Ar- 
rival at the dug-outs— The doctor's tidings— A subter- 
ranean surgery— Overtaking wounded men— The field hos- 
pital—Suspected as a spy— An astonished surgeon . . I53 



CHAPTER XIII 

IN THE TRENCHES 

Two typical casualties— Invalids bashfully grinning— Their 
bullet wounds— Comments of the kindly surgeon— What 
became of the beef tea— My night in a dug-out— Mistaken 
for the Colonel— A terrifying tail— Broken slumbers— An 
appetising breakfast— Setting forth with the Captain— War 



CONTENTS xiii 



PAGE 



landscape — Wading through the trenches — Our men under 
fire — The dead lad — Bodies in the parapet — A peep at the 
shattered "International" — Thirty yards from the foe . 163 

CHAPTER XIV 

NO man's land 

The soothing front line — Peeping over the parapet — Dead 
earth — Periscope pictures — Significant streaks of shadow — 
Tins and tatters — Military scavengers — Sunshine and a 
skylark — Tommy's comforters — What the birds were say- 
ing — German trenching tools — Other interesting relics — 
Waterproof fire-lighters — Watching an aerial battle — The 
stricken plane — Back in the open — Barred by falling 
shells — The "burst" described — An inconvenient alterna- 
tive 175 

CHAPTER XV 

UNDER SHELL FIRE 

An Easter reminder — My Yorkshire guide: typical unselfish- 
ness — A treat for stranded aviators — Ypres in a new as- 
pect — Shell holes galore: a landscape with the smallpox — 
Watching a frog — The foundered biplane — Projectiles en 
route: streaks of grating noise — Bursting shells — Our nar- 
row escape — Waiting at the roadside: a trying experi- 
ence — The deafening British battery — Mysterious absence 
of a limber — Dodging the shells: a lad's startling manoeu- 
vre — Tranquil Tommies — Our tramp along the road — Bad 
language: an exceptional experience — Welcome eggs and 
chips 1S6 



xiv CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XVI 

SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 

PAGE 

War Office brotherliness — Colonel Bate's hospital — Effective 
treatment of war-worn soldiers — The registration of 
British graves — Testing the records — Pressed flowers in 
an official envelope — The tenderness of militarism — An in- 
terview at G.H.Q. — The General's reproof — Adventures 
at La Bassee — Smiles and sniping — An incident in a 
crater — Attached to a Public Schools battalion — My or- 
derly and his pathetic experiences — A Stepney boy — Horse- 
play arrested by hymns — A Cockney climbing the Golden 
Stairs — "I know that His arras are round me" . .199 



INTRODUCTION 



On the outbreak of war — a time so fruitful in false 
surmises and unfounded misgivings — I remember 
feeling very sorry for the Salvation Army. 

Hitherto a source of strength, its international 
character seemed, in the catastrophe that had over- 
taken the human race, a source of weakness. The 
Church of England, like each of the Nonconform- 
ist churches, operated almost entirely within the 
shelter of one Empire, and wholly within the sanc- 
tion of one patriotism. But the Salvation Army 
was German as well as British, French and Belgian 
as well as Austrian; it belonged, in fact, not only to 
every belligerent country, but to the neutral ones 
as well. In width of range it was comparable only 
with the Church of Rome, but (and this made all 
the difference) its cosmopolitan character, unlike 
that of the Church of Rome, had no legal safe- 
guards, nor were its headquarters on denationalised 
soil. As an organism having the heart in London 
and arteries radiating thence all about the habitable 
globe, the Salvation Army seemed peculiarly at the 
mercy of a European war; and in imagination I saw 
several of the chief arteries severed and the organ- 
ism left shrunken and enfeebled. 

It was the easier to be fearful for the Army, I 
think, because of a piteous calamity that befell it 



svl INTRODUCTION 

a few weeks before, when a large company of Sal- 
vationists were lost with the s.s. Empress of Ireland. 
They had been journeying to the Army's jubilee 
celebration in London : a unique congress that pros- 
pered exceedingly, it is true, as a demonstration of 
the extent to which recruits had been won among 
all races of the world — white, black, brown, yellow, 
and red. For the effort involved in thus focussing 
its world-wide forces, the Army had looked for a 
return — in the outpouring of newly generated zeal 
— when the delegates should have gone back to their 
various national spheres; but the travellers were 
scarcely home again before peace on earth ended, 
and, the chief energ}' of the civilised world being 
now directed to the slaughtering of men, the pros- 
pect looked black for a body that aimed at saving 
them. Nor did there seem merely abstract reasons 
for pessimism. While threatening to decrease the 
earning power of many citizens and increase the cost 
of commodities, the war demanded for its purposes 
vast present and prospective revenues compulsorily 
contributed to the State, and for its consequences an 
unprecedented volume of voluntary contributions; 
so that the new financial experiences of the nation, 
and especially the enormous drain on sources of 
charity, might well be expected to react injuriously 
on organisations which, like the Salvation Army, de- 
pended solely upon free-will offerings. 

But those forebodings were ill-founded; indeed, 
it is scarcely an exaggeration to say that facts have 
proved the direct contrary of surmise. Those fore- 
bodings were based on a reasoning that lacked faith, 
and, consequently, insight. Reviewed in the light 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

of developments, they are seen to have Involved that, 
in the overruling of this planet's affairs, the old or- 
der was reversed and Evil had gained ascendency- 
over Good — an impossibility. 

The situation was this: Besides enormously in- 
creasing the sum of human suffering (and conse- 
quently the scope for human sympathy) the war 
had opened new fields of social service, without clos- 
ing the old ones. That is to say. If there were di- 
minished facilities for the Salvation Army, there 
was increased occasion for the Salvation Army. 
And the end — as is usual in the domain of altruism 
— compelled the means; the case being covered by 
that divine law which ensures prosperity for good 
works undertal^^en with unfaltering faith. 

In other words. If, following upon the outbreak 
of war. General Booth and his counsellors had 
wrung their hands and exclaimed, "Alas! our or- 
ganisation is maimed and our revenues threatened, 
so we must curtail our activities and refrain from 
any new ones" — then, most assuredly, would events 
have justified their fears; but. Instead, General 
Booth and his counsellors looked calmly into the 
storm, and, perceiving the social problems it had 
occasioned (notably those associated with vast con- 
gregations of men and lads cut off from the conso- 
lation and safeguard of home ties), set about sup- 
plying solutions — with what success this little book 
will reveal. 

And since the reader may already be generally 
aware of the Salvation Army's new work, in the 
spheres both of warfare and of war preparation, he 
may regard as superfluous the foregoing reflection 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

of early misgivings that have been so happily fal- 
sified by events. But it is fitting that the author 
should begin this narrative — a narrative of adven- 
tures and discoveries made among two armies on 
a double battlefield — in the humble, frank, and con- 
fessional spirit in which he proposes to continue it. 

There were other stages of his investigations 
when fact proved wholly different from anticipation; 
nay, these pages will largely record the disintegra- 
ting Influence of experience on preconceived ideas. 

Not, however, that there is anything exceptional 
In the war having upset one's opinions about the 
war. And if criticism and prophecy have been so 
frequently at fault in the military and political 
spheres, much mental uncertainty, and a free Indul- 
gence In hypothesis, might perhaps reasonably be 
allowed to one who, leaving the beaten track, sought 
to study war In its psychological and spiritual — In 
other words, In its personal — aspect. 

War to me (before and after this one broke out) 
was a frightful enigma; an unthinkable nightmare; 
a horror Inconceivable. It frightened my imagina- 
tion and baffled my mind. Most newspaper articles 
and all history books seemed to suggest that national 
greatness rested on a basis of determination and 
blows; and It had long been a commonplace of pop- 
ular thought that the liberties we enjoy — whether to 
travel, talk, or worship — were purchased by the 
blood of our ancestors. Another generally asserted 
and generally accepted tenet was that war brings 
out, exercises, and indeed depends upon, the animal, 
or brute, side of man — the "original Adam," as It 
is sometimes called; which seemed so reasonable a 



INTRODUCTION xix 

statement that there has been a tendency to think 
of one's ancestors as, in the main, folks of somewhat 
coarse fibre. Nay, if truth be told, have not some of 
us been apt to feel, in a vague sort of way, that it 
was a good thing our ancestors were so rough and 
pugnacious, as otherwise we could not be so refined 
and peaceful! 

Then came the bewildering fact that our modern, 
gentle-nurtured, peaceful lads, born to civilian tra- 
ditions, with no drop of military blood in their effec- 
tive ancestry, were going forth by the million, with 
an unselfishness that seemed almost divine, to en- 
gage in the business that seemed wholly fiendish. 
Heretofore on the conscience of each of those lads 
the words had been written, "Thou shalt not kill"; 
now the inner mandate ran, "Thou shalt kill." Per- 
sons who thought continuously about it were in dan- 
ger of thinking themselves into a state of insanity. 
There seemed no way of getting back to the happy 
tranquillity of former days except through the de- 
feat and slaughter of legions of our fellow-creatures 
— a culmination in itself so contrary to the ideal of 
happy tranquillity that one's intelligence went sick 
and reeling at the bare thought of it. 

For some time it was as though dark curtains had 
fallen around one's life; no theory appeared to fit 
with the appalling facts; the condition of the world 
had become one vast heart-breaking muddle and 
puzzle. In the phrase just used, Evil appeared to 
have assumed ascendancy over Good. 

And since that attitude of mine may well be 
deemed, by persons of steadier faith, to have been 
an unwarranted lapse towards infidelity, perhaps it 



XX INTRODUCTION 

may be permissible to mention, in a sort of aside, 
that, having retained from my teens a conviction 
that all war was unnecessary and wrong, and hav- 
ing been wont to style myself a Peace-at-any-price 
man, I now confronted war with no personal phi- 
losophy about it, my negative views on the subject 
proving wholly irrelevant to the accomplished fact. 

Light sometimes reaches the human mind through 
strange little chinks. Try not to smile when I men- 
tion, as identified with one step in my progress to- 
wards a composed view, the surprise I felt, in the 
spring of 19 15, on noting that primroses and violets 
were blooming in our woodlands as gladly as ever. 
A further definite advance came when I first reread 
the following words in the light of contemporai-y 
ev^ents: "And when ye shall hear of wars and 
rumours of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things 
must needs be." That came like a message of com- 
fort from Heaven; nay, it came as a message of 
comfort from heaven. "Be ye not troubled." Very 
well; then I need not, must not, would not, be any 
longer troubled at the thought of what was happen- 
ing. Wars — all wars — this war "must needs be." 

Then came a strong desire for personal contact 
with the thing which, in ceasing to be a nightmare 
to the imagination, had assumed deeper interest as 
a problem — nay, as a hundred and one problems — 
for the mind. 

What did it feel like to be under fire? How 
would a physical coward (and the writer had reason 
to accept himself in that category) get on when 
the bullets are flying and the bayonets flashing? 
How did war affect gentle, unassuming lads who 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

had been brought up in a Sunday-school atmosphere? 
Were they put hopelessly to shame by rough youths 
addicted to fisticuffs and horseplay? Of what ef- 
fect upon our soldiers was the sight of death oc- 
curring around them and the knowledge that death 
might at any moment be their portion? Was the 
nearness of that mortal ending equivalent in their 
thoughts to the nearness of God and eternity? 

In particular I asked myself that last question, 
and could not so much as make an assured guess 
at the answer. But from the mere suggestion of 
a possibility I seemed moving towards a truer con- 
ception of war; and the personal desire to be out 
among the fighters and the firing, where conjecture 
could be put to the proof, thenceforward grew 
stronger day by day. 

But, being a person above military age, how could 
I get to the F>ont? Nor, by the way, was it 
enough merely to get there. How, then, could I 
reach the Front with such ample facilities for mov- 
ing about, and such full opportunities for frank and 
friendly intercourse with our lads, as would enable 
me to know what were the Inner personal experi- 
ences? 

Then came the illuminating thought: we had 
two armies in the field — the British Army and the 
Salvation Army; and how better could one study 
the spiritual condition of the former than from 
vantage points that the work of the latter would af- 
ford? Other Christian organisations were engaged 
among our soldiers, but I realised that, because of 
the simple, thorough-going, uncompromising, seven- 
days-a-week character of its Christianity, the Salva- 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

tion Army, through its corporate and individual ac- 
tivities in the war arena, would most surely intro- 
duce me to the knowledge I sought. 

It only remains to say that General Booth most 
kindly gave every opportunity, both in this country 
and in France, for an intimate insight into the work 
his Army is doing; while the Imperial Government, 
represented more particularly by the War Office, 
rendered unrestricted assistance to the Inquirer, not 
merely with facilities for visiting places of interest 
in the zone of the British Army, but by attaching him 
to a succession of battalions in the firing line, and 
allowing him full access to the trenches. 



SOULS IN KHAKI 

CHAPTER I 

PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 

A church without laity — The sailor and the spar: superlative un- 
selfishness — In British Army camps — Salvation Army huts — 
Human attitudes: natural and acquired — An interview in the 
scullery — The Adjutant's statistics — Sausages and pathos — A 
Scotchman's postponed decision — The sacrifice and its sequel: 
testimony of the rescued sailor. 

Occasionally, of course, one meets Salvationists 
who are not members of the Salvation Army; but, 
speaking broadly, what distinguishes General Booth's 
organisation from other parts of Christ's Church is 
the belief that religion, instead of being merely a 
matter for formal occasions and private meditation, 
is for every-day use and avowal. Thus it comes 
about that the Salvation Army is the one church 
without any laity, all its members being ministers, 
who preach their sermons not only in words, but 
in the way they live — and die. 

The JVar Cry gives typical instances of Salva- 
tionist happenings, to one of which my attention 
was recalled when, as a preliminary to crossing the 
Channel, I was visiting Salvation Army huts in 
British Army camps of southern England. 

23 



M SOULS IN KHAKI 

It seems that, after H.M.S. Cressy, Hogue, and 
Aboukir had been torpedoed, two exhausted sailors, 
swimming about in the water, at last came upon a 
spar which, while sufficiently buoyant to keep 
either of them afloat, sank under the combined 
weight of both, so that they were constrained to 
take alternate spells of buffeting with the heavy 
swell and of clinging to the piece of wood — a process 
that could not be indefinitely prolonged, and that 
was terminated when one, who was a Salvationist, 
said "Good-bye, mate; death means life to me; 
but you are not converted, so keep hold and save 
yourself" — saying which he suffered himself to be 
carried away, inevitably to drown; and afterwards 
the other man, who survived and was rescued, re- 
ported at a Salvationist meeting the act of self-sac- 
rifice to which he owed his life. 

That beautiful abstract fact, when brought a 
second time to my notice, prompted a desire to see 
it in a framework of human nature — in other 
words, to find out something more about the 
anonymous hero who gave the highest proof of a 
spirit that was also revealed in the Salvation Army 
huts I was visiting. For those huts were adminis- 
tered in a spirit of brotherly love, and brotherly love 
reaches Its golden zenith when one man gives his 
life for another. 

A large wooden hall fitted as a shop and refresh- 
ment counter at one end, and having nearly all the 
rest of the space occupied by chairs and little trestle 
tables, methodically arranged with Intervening gang- 
ways — such Is the interior of a Salvation Army hut, 
which probably also contains a piano, a picture or 



PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 25 

two, and a placard giving the times of trains or mo- 
tor 'buses. Yellow deal being yellow deal, there is 
little to distinguish it from the thousand and one 
other huts of the camp — officers' quarters, men's 
quarters, messes, canteens, stores, and recreation 
rooms. Some of those other huts you might find 
full of men in khaki, just as you are almost sure 
to find the Salvation Army hut full of men in khaki. 
But it is different from them, because the person 
who serves at the counter, and the person who cooks 
the eggs and bacon, and the person who clears the 
tables and does the washing-up, is — well, because 
he or she is moved by the same motive as the man 
who relinquished his share of the spar. 

Most of us, as is only natural, are wont to strive 
with a main eye to the worldly advantage of our- 
selves and of our families, modern existence being 
accepted as a competitive struggle — a sort of game 
of grab — for fame, fortune, and felicity; it being 
currently reported, not only that self-preservation 
is the first law of nature, but that if a man does not 
take his own part no one else will. The faith of 
the Salvationist contradicts those propositions — and 
he acts accordingly, with the result that his experi- 
ence contradicts them also. 

As for felicity, my visits to those huts Introduced 
me to some notable examples of that state of be- 
ing. There were, for Instance, Adjutant and Mrs. 
M., whom I Interviewed In the wash-house, that 
being the only place where a visitor could occupy 
a little standing room without Interrupting business. 
For, as usual, there were about a hundred Tom- 
mies in the hut, so a good deal of cooking and serv- 



26 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Ing was going on. The Salvationist couple were as- 
sisted by a Salvationist girl and a Salvationist lad, 
which gave the equivalent of a staff of eight un- 
der normal commercial conditions, one person who 
labours for love being equal to two who merely work 
for wages. What with selling picture postcards, 
frying kippers, asking a man about his invalid wife, 
opening tins of pineapple and helping a poor scholar 
to write to his sweetheart, there was a good deal 
doing on our side of the counter; and my interview 
with Adjutant and Mrs, M. was consequently jerky 
— two minutes with him, half a minute with her, 
jfive minutes alone with the copper. 

"I tell you," cried the enthusiastic Adjutant, "I'd 
do anything for the boys — they're so splendid. Just 
to show you — our regular hours are from half-past 
six in the morning to half-past seven at night — 
and they keep us pretty busy, too, all the time, bless 
'em; but often enough some will come before the 
proper time or after we're shut. Parties reach camp 
at night, you see — and they're very likely hungry 
after their march, poor chaps. Who could turn 'em 
away, I'd like to know! Same as night before last 
there was a knock just as I'd finished making up my 
books and was about to turn in. One of our regular 
customers had brought round a few tired lads out 
of a lot that had just come in; 'and would I mind,' 
he said, 'just to cook a few more sausages and give 
'em a drop of tea.' Mind! of course not. And 
they must have passed the word back, for I'd cooked 
20 lbs. of sausages before I was through — 20 lbs. 
after closing time, mind! That day I had already 
cooked at least " 



PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 27 

But^ here his wife arrived breathlessly to report 
that eight bacon and eggs were in a hurry as they 
must get back to parade; and away dashed the 
Adjutant to see to it. 

"Ah ! you've no idea what fine boys we get here," 
the Adjutant's wife lingered to tell me; "and they're 
so grateful when one tries to help them, if it's only 
with a word of sympathy or encouragement. Be- 
ing away from home, often for the first time, they 
miss their own women folk, and they can see 1 
just love to mother them. Then of course there's 
the uniform. It's a great privilege to wear a uni- 
form that everybody seems to have confidence in 
and look up to. They do feel the seriousness of 
what lies before them; and when they speak about 
the prayers they may for years have forgotten to say, 
and the bad ways they may have fallen into, why 
then I can't keep the tears back (my husband says 
it's so silly of me to be always crying over them — 
or else laughing!) — but it makes one more and 
more eager in pointing to the path of peace and 
begging those dear souls to arm themselves against 
all dangers by loving the Saviour who so loves them. 
The other day " 

But the Salvationist lass popped her head in to 
report a crowd at the counter; and I found myself 
with an opportunity to count the milk chums and 
packing-cases crowded about the copper. 

Presently the Adjutant rushed in to remark: 

"Last week we sold ;^i4 145. 3>^i. worth of 
sausages. I've just had a look at my bills to see. 
And groceries, including bacon, come to over ;^I5. 
But that's ordinary, that is. Why, the day before 



28 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Christmas we cooked 245 breakfasts! How would 
you like to do the washing-up for " 

"Six sausages and two eggs and bacon!" an- 
nounced his wife, his disappearance being practically 
simultaneous with her reappearance. 

"There's one dear lad I wish you could see," 
she exclaimed — "my Norfolk boy, I call him. You 
wouldn't believe how unhappy he looked when he 
first came here. Life was black and hopeless for 
him, poor lad. But now he's one of us, and so proud 
of his jersey, and a really beautiful influence among 
his comrades — I know that, because several have 
told me. Being a driver, you see, he's pretty well 
a fixture here; not like the others — always moving 

on. That's the worst part " and she paused, 

the animation dying out of her face. 

"You see a lad on the brink of decision," con- 
tinued the Adjutant's wife, "and needing only a little 
more help and encouragement, when suddenly he 
moves on, probably to the Front, and you never 
see him again. There was one tall Scotchman — 
'Sandy,' we called him — who had much to conquer 
in his life, but he had been deeply touched, and 
I had seen the tears in his eyes. He seemed, in 
fact, on the point of kneeling at the Master's feet, 
and seeking the grace and guidance that never fails. 
One evening he got so far as to falter, 'Not to-night, 
but to-morrow — I think I will to-morrow.' But 
when the next day came his regiment was under 
orders to entrain that afternoon. It made us tre- 
mendously busy, and the hut was crowded with 
men, mostly wanting food. They kept us as busy 
as bees; and while I was at the counter I caught 



PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 29 

sight of 'Sandy.' I saw him nvice, and his expres- 
sion seemed to say he had come intending at last 
to make the decision. He wanted me to go to him 
— I could see that, and there seemed such a plead- 
ing and disappointed look on his face. I tried to 
go across, and kept hoping I should be able to; 
but the work at the counter was absolutely unceas- 
ing, and I couldn't get away. Presently 'Sandy' sat 
down at the piano — he was quite a fair player — and 
above the clatter, I caught a few bars of Take 
time to be holy.' Thinking about it since, I can't 
help feeling the reproach that may have been in- 
tended." 

And, wrestling with emotion, she pressed a hand 
against her wet eyes. 

"You see," came the piteous explanation, "there 
I was waiting on a lot of high-spirited lads who 
only wanted chocolate and cake and things like that, 
and poor 'Sandy' may well have thought me ut- 
terly neglectful of him, whose need was so much 
higher. Such a number of these dear men and 
lads pass through one's life that it is impossible to 
know them by their names. In this case 'Sandy' 
was the only name I knew, and so it has been im- 
possible to write to him. Still" — and the smiles 
came out again — "besides the failures and disap- 
pointments, one is permitted to see some beautiful 
results. For instance, there was a shy little 
R.A.M.C. boy, whom I discovered one day " 

But her husband arrived post haste to report that 
more sliced cake was urgently needed; which lost 
me further details about the shy boy, but gained 
me the information that, on a recent Wednesday, 



30 SOULS IN KHAKI 

the Adjutant used 1 1 lbs. of tea in filling goodness 
knows how many soldiers' quart bottles with the 
evening beverage, nicely milked and sugared, at 4J. 
a time. 

And so the spasmodic interview ran on, the theme 
alternating strangely between sausages and souls, 
but the same spirit prevailing throughout. 

Thinking about that spirit, I tried, during my 
second interlude with the copper, to associate what 
I had just seen and heard with an imaginary re- 
freshment place established on a purely commercial 
basis. It was difficult to picture the salaried man- 
ager enthusiastic over the hundreds of meals he 
had to prepare out of business hours; his eyes 
brightly sparkling because, following upon a day 
without leisure, he was bereft of some hours of 
sleep by an unexpected call on his services. My 
imagination also rather broke down in conceiving 
the manager's wife openly to rejoice because she was 
fairly run off her feet, morning, noon, and night, and 
furtively to shed tears because, during a period 
when the pressure of work put an extra strain on 
her energy, she had not found it possible to do 
more than she had done. Nor did I have much suc- 
cess in picturing the two assistants, instead of be- 
ing impatient for recreation and the cinema, smil- 
ing and singing snatches of songs (like the Salva- 
tion lad and lass were doing) as they put more zest 
into their work than most young people put into 
their play. 

Those sprightly toilers in the Salvation Army 
huts had all, no doubt, been born with the natural 
tendency to live for themselves. But they had turned 



PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATIONS 31 

right-about-face, and were now living for others — 
an impersonal mode of existence, by the by, that 
seemed to cause them an enduring glow of happi- 
ness. I was the more interested in these manifesta- 
tions of the spirit of unselfishness because they 
seemed so clearly to bear — though in what way and 
degree did not yet appear — on those human prob- 
lems of warfare which I had set out to try and 
solve. 

Thus my desire grew for further Information 
about the shipwrecked sailor who died so eloquent 
and graphic a death — further information to which, 
as it happened, my sausage-cooking friend pointed 
the way. He referred me to a Salvationist officer 
at Folkestone, at whose suggestion I waited on a 
Salvationist officer at Canterbury, by whom my 
steps were directed to a Salvationist officer at 
Sittingbourne — to wit. Adjutant Pickering, who 
proved to have valuable information to impart. For 
the beautiful incident first came to light in a neigh- 
bouring town during her command there. 

"One Sunday evening in our hall at Sheerness," 
she explained, "there were seven or eight recent 
converts — Navy men — and sitting among them was 
a sailor named Peter Ross. I didn't know his name 
at the time, but I remembered seeing him the night 
before, when he followed from our open-air meeting 
to the hall. I called for personal testimonies, and 
one of the men who got up was Peter Ross. He 
said he had never thought about God in the past, 
nor had his people, but he wanted to give his heart 
to God now because of something that had hap- 
pened to him. He went on to tell us (I can't re- 



32 SOULS IN KHAKI 

member the words — only the sense) that he had 
been on H.M.S. Ahoiikir when she was torpedoed, 
and that after he had been swimming about in the 
water for some time he came across a shipmate 
named Brumpton, who was a Salvationist. When 
feeling rather exhausted, they found a spar, which 
could keep one of them afloat but not both together, 
as it wasn't large enough. So after a bit Brumpton 
wished him Good-bye, and said, 'Death means life 
to me, but it'll be death for you if you go down 
without being converted; so you hold on and save 
yourself.' Ross said it had made a great impres- 
sion on him, and he wanted his life to be different. 
Afterwards he told me how sorry he was that he 
hadn't written to his people for five years, and he 
gave me his sisters' address. I wrote and told them 
their brother had announced his conversion in our 
hall, and they sent me a very nice letter in reply, 
saying how glad they were." 

So now I knew the unselfish sailor's name; and 
Adjutant Pickering said she believed his family lived 
at Southampton. 



CHAPTER II 

HERO AND SAINT 

Soldiers and Salvationists: the link of sympathy — Affectionate cook- 
ery — A subtle attraction — Chris Lovell — Sweethearts and the 
penitent form — Serving in two Armies — The love of life v. the 
power of compassion — A deed of double glory — Chris's radiant 
death. 

One impression deepened with each further visit 
to a Salvation Army hut in a British Army camp. 
I refer to my realisation of a unique quality in the 
relations existing between General Booth's people 
and our soldiers. 

Everybody being fond of Tommy, and the Sal- 
vationist being fond of everybody, it was not at 
first easy to recognise a special warmth in words and 
smiles exchanged in the Army huts — a certain bright 
note of brotherliness on the part of those serving, 
and a certain reverent note of gratitude on the part 
of those served. 

But the phenomenon, when once recognised, was 
easy to interpret. 

Think for a moment about those camps. They 
were huge assemblies of men and lads who, at the 
age of early maturitjr — when pleasures cast their 
strongest spell and life is full of roses — had volun- 
tarily abandoned all the joys that the physical world 

33 



34 SOULS IN KHAKI 

could offer them — had withdrawn from home, fam- 
ily, occupation, ease, and security — to safeguard the 
lives and liberties of others. Each of those brown- 
skinned boys, with his careless laugh and healthy 
grin, had preferred to face danger, pain, and sud- 
den death rather than suffer the free peoples of 
Europe to be dominated by military oppression. 
In a word, each of those unconscripted soldiers was 
a figure of excellent unselfishness, and as such held 
a passport to the hearts of all Salvationists, who, 
so to speak, are in the same line of business. 

And here we read the secret of that bright note 
of brotherliness to which I have referred. The 
Salvationist's accustomed daily tasks lie largely 
among the fallen, the criminal, the suffering, and 
the wretched, whom he or she succours in a spirit 
of compassionate lov^e. But the Salvationist waited 
on our Tommies — our glorious Tommies ! — in a 
spirit of loving admiration. 

The Individuals previously mentioned were both 
actual and representative. I visited only about a 
dozen Salvation Army huts (out of hundreds exist- 
ing in military camps and munition areas scattered 
throughout the United Kingdom), but I met several 
Adjutant M.'s and several Mrs. Adjutant M.'s. 
Not, mind you, that every kitchen gave off a pre- 
vailing aroma of sausages. The culinary fame of 
some huts was identified more particularly with fried 
bacon, or even fried fish. 

And here, perhaps, I may mention one enthusi- 
astic Salvationist matron whom I found cooking 
large brownish new-laid eggs in a huge stewing-pan, 
400 at a time. Watch in hand, she was safeguard- 



HERO AND SAINT 35 

ing the respective rights of lightly-boiled, medium, 
and hard-boiled preferences; her eager pre-occupa- 
tion being characteristic of Salvation Army determi- 
nation to give the brave boys, not only honest value 
for money in the quality of all food supplied to 
them, but an attempted equality with mother in the 
way it was cooked and served. The large Salva- 
tion Army cups of tea for a penny formed an in- 
structive contrast with the smaller cups supplied in 
London tea-shops for twopence halfpenny; the more 
so as the Salvation Army hut was under an obliga- 
tion to pay its way. 

With nothing done mechanically as a mere mat- 
ter of routine, and with their working day includ- 
ing all but hours of sleep, several Salvationists whom 
I visited were, naturally enough, approaching the 
limit of their strength. Tribulation sometimes took 
other forms. One captain had lost his voice be- 
cause, after conducting services in the crowded build- 
ing, he had been compelled to spend an hour or so 
on the roof, during a storm of wind and rain, in 
closing avenues for the entry of the weather. At 
another hut I found a married couple who had 
persisted brav^ely with their multifarious duties while 
for five months their only child hovered between 
life and death. 

But I came to the conclusion, after talking with 
many soldiers inside and outside the huts, that 
Tommy was drawn to the Salvationists, not merely 
or mainly because they served him with such ef- 
ficiency or devotion, nor because of opportunities 
their huts supplied for writing, reading, and music, 
but because Salvationists were on the side of truth, 



36 SOULS IN KHAKI 

wisdom, and the angels, and because of their visible 
character as unsanctimonious saints. 

Not that Tommy gave me that Information In 
those words. "Oh, you see," he would say, "we 
like to go In there" — pointing to a hut bearing the 
familiar shield — "because the Salvation Army are 
— well" (lowering his voice to an Inflection of gen- 
tleness), "because they are different from other peo- 
ple, aren't they?" Pressed to be more precise, he 
would at first wrestle with a condition of tongue- 
tied embarrassment. But gradually I groped my 
way to a knowledge of how the case stood — a knowl- 
edge which. In view of the angle at which I pro- 
posed to study the war, had a special Interest for 
me. For was It not a reasonable deduction that 
the same lads, In their civil characters during peace- 
ful times, would have been less open to the attrac- 
tion of religion? 

And so my investigations received a new stmulus, 
and (I being now come to a camp not far from 
Southampton) they took the form of seeking to 
hear of somebody who had known Brumpton in- 
timately. 

It seemed, however, that his acquaintances must 
be looked for In Portsmouth rather than Southamp- 
ton; though an Incidental outcome of my inquiries 
caused me In the first place to visit the latter town. 

At the hut In question was a sunny-hearted and 
sunny-faced Salvationist lad who, after working all 
day at an ofHce to support his mother and little 
brother, devoted leisure evening hours to the service 
of the soldiers. He was, in fact, one of those lads 
whose appearance suggests that the guardian angel 



HERO AND SAINT 37 

has overstayed the years of childhood — perhaps be- 
cause not driven away by ribald talk and the reek 
of cheap cigarettes. 

"How splendid!" he exclaimed, when I told him 
how Brumpton died. "I only wish I could help 
you to find his friends." Then, after a pause, he 
added: 'T wonder if you would be interested to 
learn about Chris Lovell, a Southampton boy, whose 
case was rather like Brumpton s, except that Chris 
was in the Army and he died at the front. Miss 
Agnes S. in the Southampton Corps would give you 
the details. She was engaged to Chris." 

A similar case ! This was tantalising. I resolved 
to find out (for the lad's testimony on such a point 
would probably be sound) how the naval Salva- 
tionist's self-sacrifice at sea was duplicated, in spirit, 
by the military Salvationist's self-sacrifice on land. 

And so it came about that, on reaching Southamp- 
ton, I sought out Miss Agnes S., who — her eyes 
shining with pride and tears — told me about Chris. 
And certainly the case came pat as an answer 
to a question which, as we have seen, was in- 
terwoven with the motive for this book. What 
spiritual experiences awaited our bright-eyed soldier 
boys innumerable, who were all in love with life, yet 
all prepared to die? And especially the modest, 
wistful, and gentle lads — how would grim war af- 
fect those who were scarcely yet acquainted with 
the ordinary trials of life? 

Pending personal investigations at the front, I 
found no little significance in this case of a young 
Southampton cabinet-maker, who, in accomplishing 



88 SOULS IN KHAKI 

a heroic military exploit, performed a beautiful act 
of personal compassion. 

Let me carefully review the facts: 

When, three years before, Chris fell in love with 
that Salvation Army lass, he was the idol of his 
beloved mother, an attendant at St. Mary's Church, 
and the devoted cavalier of a toddling, chubby niece 
named Daisy — ^biographical details which probably 
do not suggest a dauntless warrior. There came 
developments even more likely to be classed as 
namby-pamby. 

As Agnes would not forsake the Army hall, Chris 
took to going there himself. She told me what 
followed. 

"One evening, without any prompting from me, 
he made his way from the back gallery to the 
penitent form, and it seemed nice that he should 
afterwards say, 'I was not only kneeling at the 
feet of Jesus, but also in a way at your feet, Aggie.' 
You see, as a songster I sit on the platform, and 
was just above him." 

In his quiet way, Chris became an earnest Salva- 
tionist, without, however, figuring prominently in 
the Corps. 

"Strangely enough, he did not become an active 
soldier of the Salvation Army," said Agnes, "until 
after joining the British Army;" and the conse- 
crated girl, battling bravely with her personal sor- 
row, here produced some of Chris's letters, that she 
might read me extracts. 

After his first Sunday at Gilllngham, the newly 
recruited Royal Engineer wrote: "I am at every 
opportunity praying for you and all at home; also 



HERO AND SAINT 39 

for the Army. You say you hope I shall come 
back a Salvation soldier. I am better already, thank 
God; and yesterday I thought I would go for a 
walk, and just as I got to Chatham I heard the 
Army band, but I could not see it. They were 
playing 'Whosoever will may come,' so I had to go. 
It was God speaking to me, and I started running, 
and saw the Army, and followed them to the hall. 
I went in, and to-day and to-night I can say truth- 
fully that it is well with my soul." 

Later he wrote: "I went to the Gillingham hall 
three times yesterday. It was lovely. Last night 
I had three nice pals who belong to the Army. We 
all gave our testimony, one after the other." 

From Aldershot, where he was afterwards sta- 
tioned, Chris wrote to Agnes: "Yes, dear, all we 
must say is 'God's will be done' ; and if we say 
that we shall be quite safe and fit to meet God. 
. . , Last night I saw the open-air meeting, and 
followed the Army to the hall. It was full of sol- 
diers. I had the pleasure of leading a Royal En- 
gineer to the penitent form. 

"From other sources," said Agnes, "we heard 
of four or five more he was privileged to help in 
that way. One had been a deputy-bandmaster, and 
another, also a backslider, was a Crewe man." 

A few short months and Chris was out on the 
front in France. There came to Agnes a letter 
written on the official paper of the signalling corps 
to which he belonged. "I am on the line now," 
he wrote, "but don't worry. I shall be all right. 
God will guide me. He has done, and will do 
again. It was awful here on Thursday afternoon 



40 SOULS IN KHAKI 

and night. We had a number of our men 'gassed' 
fiv^e times and killed. God is guiding me always. 
... I saw a trench blown up yesterday, and nearly 
all the men were 'gassed.' " 

Note his anxiety, in the midst of death and dan- 
ger, to comfort those at home. 

Soon, indeed, he was enthusiastically writing to 
Agnes: "I've got some good news to tell you. 
I'm signal clerk, and I have to remain at head- 
quarters all the time and not go into the trenches, 
so I hope you will not worry." And, as I was 
afterwards to learn, the same post brought the 
same consoling tidings to Mrs. Lovell, in these 
words: "I hope, dear mother, you are not worry- 
ing. I am quite all right. I am made signalling 
clerk in the signalling office." 

A few days later Mrs. Lovell learnt that her son, 
while voluntarily discharging a duty of special im- 
portance and peril, had received a very severe 
wound. 

"He was brought into our hospital," wrote the 
Rev. J. H. Martin, chaplain with the 44th Field 
Ambulance, 14th Division, "and we thought he was 
dying. But I am glad to say that he is progress- 
ing very favourably. His clean good life has been 
his hope, and still is. If he had been a fast-living 
young man your Chris would have been dead ere 
this. We prayed together, and he sent his love 
to you, and he was bright and happy." 

To Agnes, Mr. Martin wrote : "All are surprised 
at his splendid rally. . . . Your Chris was true to 
his colours, and did bravely and well." 

That the lad had performed an act of special 



HERO AND SAINT 41 

gallantry had meanwhile received a striking proof. 
The military authorities spontaneously telegraphed 
their willingness that Mrs. Lovell should immedi- 
ately receive, free of charge, steamboat and rail- 
way facilities to visit her wounded boy in France. 
"May I go with her if I pay my fare?" asked Agnes; 
and when it was discovered that she and Lovell 
were engaged, a free pass was accorded also to 
her. (And my readers will the more appreciate 
this warm-hearted action of the War Office, be- 
cause, as was current knowledge, scores of persons 
professionally and socially distinguished, includ- 
ing authors, journalists, artists, politicians, and 
philanthropists, were at that time vainly seeking 
permission to visit the western front.) 

At the hospital Mrs. Lovell and Agnes learnt 
why Chris lay there so thin and white that at first the 
former (though not the latter) failed to recognise 
him. 

It seemed that a young engineer was sent out to 
repair electric communications, and, if possible, cut 
those of the enemy; but as in the darkness he crept 
on across the fire-swept zone, bursting shells played 
havoc with his nerves, so that, having lost his way, 
he returned whence he had gone. 

Army discipline, in such cases, must seek a middle 
course, no doubt, between a leniency that might 
encourage weakness in others and a stringency that 
might imperil the end immediately in view. 

"Who will volunteer to go with him?" asked 
the officer. "It will be almost certain death." And 
at once Chris volunteered. 

"You see, mother," was the explanation Mrs. 



42 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Lovell received from her son, "the poor chap was 
crying, and he was only a boy — not much more 
than seventeen. It was different when he didn't 
have to go alone, I was able to cover him; and 
we got through fine. After fixing up our ow*n 
wire we went on and cut the enemy's." 

Nor does it require much imagination to picture 
their long crawl across the undulations of clay. For 
that poor, wet-eyed boy, how reassuring the com- 
panionship of one whose cool brain would serve to 
locate the lines — whose foreshortened body was a 
shield against bullets. And, with our clues to the 
working of Chris's heart, who can doubt that the 
mainspring of his action was an impulse to succour 
the distraught lad? 

Mother and sweetheart heard these further ex- 
planations: 

"We were on our way back, and I began to 
think we should get through, when something pos- 
sessed the boy to stand up. We were spotted at 
once, and out flashed the blue lights." 

(For the vigilant enemy eyes an erect form might 
well be dimly visible against the sky, whereas crawl- 
ing forms would remain unrevealed.) 

"I looked up and saw the boy catch it there" 
(Chris indicated the neck), "and next minute I 
had a burning sensation in my side. It was Sunday 
evening, Aggie, and I thought you might just be 
coming out of the hall. I kept on thinking of you 
all. It was hours before any one could come to 
me." 

And here we may mention facts learnt from other 
persons at the hospital. Chris was found on the 



HERO AND SAINT 43 

battlefield, fully conscious and "in an attitude of 
prayer." That was the phrase of the eyewitness. 
But one must not picture that glorious lad in any 
very formal attitude. His severe wound precluded 
anything in the nature of a kneeling posture. Nor 
could the joined hands have been extended. For in 
one he held a piece of wire (snipped no doubt from 
the enemy's line) ; in the other he still grasped his 
pair of pliers. 

The visitors from England took Chris some fruit, 
and, knowing his love for flowers, they explored 
the French countryside until, on at last discovering 
a florist, they secured a bunch of choice blossoms 
with which to brighten his bedside. And there was 
a new sparkle in the unselfish lad's bright eyes as 
he directed the distribution of peaches, apricots, and 
roses among his fellow-sufi^erers and the nurses. 

•When Chris was found on the battlefield, his 
pockets contained only the Bible Agnes had given 
him (after marking the passage "Not my will but 
Thine be done") and his Salvationist Song-book. 

"My wallet and everything else was gone," he 
explained; and it must remain an open question 
whether they fell out as he crawled along the ground 
or as he was being borne from the field. 

(One of the missing articles, after following a 
roundabout route from hand to hand, found its way 
back some weeks later to the Lovells' home at South- 
ampton. It was a photograph of Chris's chubby 
little favourite, Daisy.) 

Before returning to England, mother and sweet- 
heart received the comforting assurance that Chris 
would soon be sent across to Netley Hospital, where. 



44 SOULS IN KHAKI 

it was pointed out, they would be able to see much 
of him. Meanwhile they left him surrounded by 
well-wishers, including a chance acquaintance that 
the ladies had made under the following circum- 
stances: 

Setting out for the hospital one morning on foot, 
they had lost their way, and, meeting only French 
folk who could not understand them, were com- 
pletely baffled until reaching the brow of a chalk- 
pit, in which English soldiers were working. Kneel- 
ing on the grass, Agnes peeped over and called out: 
"Tommy!" Several young fellow-countrymen were 
soon scrambling up in answer to that summons, and 
the first to reach the summit, a private in the 12th 
London Regiment, became their guide to the hos- 
pital, and volunteered, not only to visit Chris when 
they were gone, but to write and tell them how he 
was getting 011. 

Strange indeed the interwoven destinies of human 
beings! Chris, recovering so triumphantly from his 
wound, developed pneumonia and died; and it fell 
to the lot of the chalk-pit boy to dig his grave. That 
lad also sent the following account of the state in 
which he found Chris when the end was approach- 
ing: 

"He seemed pleased with the whole world, by 
the expression on his face; but in his mind, poor 
chap, he was wander, i^." 

A lady visitor to the hospital, who saw Chris a 
little earlier, wrote these details to Mrs. Lovell: 
"He was breathing very hard. With great diffi- 
culty he said, 'Mother was here last week.' I said, 
'Yes, be brave, dear, and she may come again. God 



HERO AND SAINT 45 

will help you to bear up.' He said, 'Yes, I know.' 
He seemed to have infinite faith." 

Brumpton and Chris Lovell — yes, they certainly 
were similar cases. Who could remain pessimistic 
about a war, or about anything else, in a world that 
produces such as they? 



CHAPTER III 

FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 

A hero's midnight conversion — ^Kerbstone devotions — Instructive 
boxing-gloves — A peace-loving lad as a fearless fighter — An- 
other glimpse of shipwrecked Brum: succouring the screaming 
boy — A cloud of Salvationist heroes — Godly men v. dare- 
devils — ^The faith that knows no fear — A soldier lad and his 
frivolous mother — Bedside prayers in the men's quarters — 
Half-measures resented — Why? 

Further facts concerning Chris were promised; but 
already, it will be noted, I knew far more about him 
than about Brumpton. However, interviews at 
Portsmouth soon gave me glimpses of the life and 
character of that glorious sailor. 

"Fifteen years ago," said Mr. F. Whiteing, a 
Salvationist shopkeeper, *'Brumpton was converted 
on the deck of a battleship through the efforts of 
Corporal Dicks. It was twelve o'clock at night, 
and the two knelt together under one of the big 
guns. Before then Brumpton had been given to 
drinking, fighting, and swearing. After that his 
chief concern was to help others to get the blessing 
which had transformed his life." 

I wanted specific instances of the way Brumpton's 
influence was felt; and Jock Cummings, » dapper 
little Salvationist In the tailor's shop at Eastney 
Barracks, was able to satisfy me. 

46 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 47 

"Brum, for that's what we called him," said Jock, 
"was always cheerful and smiling, and as he passed 
to and fro in these barracks (he was one of us, 
you know — a Red Marine) he would often be sing- 
ing some Salvation Army song. Whenever he met 
mates looking downhearted he would be sure to 
try and cheer them up. 'Don't keep your troubles,' 
was a favourite remark of Brum's; 'throw them into 
the scran-bag.' He was out and out in everything. 
If he was taken with the idea to pray, he'd do it, 
no matter where he was." 

"Can you remember an instance of that?" 

"Well, soon after he came back from Malta," 
said Jock, "he and I were walking together just 
opposite the cemetery in Highland Road when down 
he went on his knees on the edge of the pavement; 
and, of course, I joined him. An unusual sight 
that, to see two men praying (aye, and to hear them, 
too, for Brum had a powerful voice) on the kerb 
at about eight o'clock one summer's evening in a 
pretty crowded street of Portsmouth. I suppose 
we must have been at it for ten minutes, and about 
thirty people gathered round." 

"Did they jeer?" 

"Oh, no. There were the usual critics, of course; 
but Brum's gracious spirit won most of them. They 
could see he meant it." 

"Did he have much to put up with in barracks?" 

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I think. A cer- 
tain amount of scoffing is what you've got to ex- 
pect. But when they see a man is living true to 
his religion they'll mostly leave him alone. Any 
one new is often a little troublesome at first. But 



48 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Brum could take his own part. Once there came 
along a man who was a bit of a bully and given 
to fighting. Hearing Brum say something about 
salvation, the bully started calling him a 'Ummy- 
dum,' which is a name they've got in the service 
for anybody reckoned to be soft and goody-goody. 
After a bit he challenged Brum to come into the 
gymnasium; but, of course. Brum didn't want to 
go, and so tried to laugh it off. But the bully only 
kept on all the more, fancying he saw his way to 
some fine sport; and in the end Brum was fairly 
worried into putting on the gloves. As it happened 
he had taken lessons in boxing at Malta before his 
conversion; what's more, he hadn't been frittering 
away his strength by drinking and in other bad ways ; 
so he was more than a match for the other man. But, 
to begin with. Brum took a little punishment; then 
he got to work in earnest. It wasn't many minutes 
before the bully had had quite enough. 'Hm!' he 
muttered, as he nursed his poor bruised face, 'do 
you call that salvation?' 'No, mate,' replied Brum, 
'that's correction. We'll talk about salvation now.' 
And at once he began." 

And so Brum was revealed as physically strong 
and a fighter — the sort of man who is endowed by 
nature with traditional qualities of the hero. I 
wondered if perhaps Chris were not just such an- 
other robust specimen of manhood. True, a con- 
trary impression had been left upon my mind by 
the information already forthcoming; but that Im- 
pression was now seen to have insufficient warrant. 

Thus, on visiting Mrs. Lovell at Southampton, I 
was concerned to ascertain If, as bet^veen her son 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 49 

and the sailor, there had existed an identity of tem- 
perament to correspond with an essential similarity 
in the manner of their dying. But photographs of 
Chris suggested a sensitive, gentle, and diffident lad; 
while a letter from his employers — the Southamp- 
ton cabinet-maker for whom he had worked since 
leaving school — contained the following passage: 
"Your dear boy did his duty in face of being really 
a very peace-loving young man. It is all to his 
credit. I know that he was very God-fearing." 

This evidence, however, if it destroyed one hy- 
pothesis, provoked another. Since the lad was so 
obviously of a mild and unaggressive character, 
might not his act of superb self-sacrifice have re- 
sulted merely from impulse — the unconsidered 
prompting of a happy moment? But to another son 
of Mrs. Lovell, Chris's officer wrote: "I have 
known your brother well for a long time, and he 
was under my command from the time we embarked 
until I was 'gassed' on June 30. He was always 
an excellent soldier, and his behaviour under fire 
was a credit to his (or any) corps. He was always 
cheerful even under the most trying conditions, and 
there are very few of whom I can say the same." 

So that slender success attended attempts to trace 
an analogy between the character of the hero and 
the character of his deed. It merely seemed that 
the gentle cabinet-maker was differentiated from the 
muscular marine by a quality of chivalrous compas- 
sion for youth. But even this modest deduction did 
not survive a conversation with Sergeant Barnes, 
who in barracks was in charge of the company to 
which Brum belonged. 



50 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"A fine, straight man Brumpton was," exclaimed 
the sergeant; "and, mind you, that's the word of 
one who's in a position to know — nobody better. 
For it's part of my duty to watch the men under 
me, and there's not a great deal any one can do 
or say in barracks but gets noticed. What's more, 
when you've got twenty-eight men living together 
by themselves inside of four walls, you're not ex- 
actly dealing with a Sunday-school; and if anybody 
in a crowd like that starts out to live same as your 
pal, he's taken on a big job — no mistake. But 
Brumpton kept to his course, straight and true. 
And, mind you, I'm a different sort of man my- 
self- — I've got to admit it. But I want to say right 
out that he lived up to what he claimed to be. If 
there was bad language going about, he'd be up 
and put in his word against it, no matter if it was 
an officer or anybody else. Same as myself, when 
I might have spoken a bit too free, he'd step right 
up to me — quite respectful, mind; you couldn't well 
take any offence — and just say he thought I'd have 
different words in my mouth if I gave the matter 
more thought. Yes; while he did his duty in the 
service as good as the next man, your people can take 
it from me that his ways of carrying on here would 
have come up to all they could have expected of 
him." 

And gradually I realised that the honest sergeant 
assumed that I was endeavouring to ascertain, on 
behalf of the Salvation Army, whether Brumpton 
had or had not lived consistently as a Salvationist. 

"Did you hear of the way he behaved in the 
water?" I asked, "when his ship was torpedoed?" 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 61 

"Aye," replied the sergeant; "some of the sur- 
vivors came back here after it happened, and they 
brought us news of Brumpton. He and six others 
got on a bit of a raft — five being men who told us 
about it, and the other a lad who'd gone funny in 
his head by the shock. It seems this lad was scream- 
ing, and wouldn't stay quiet in one place, so he had 
the raft capsized twice. In fact, he carried on so 
off the level that it didn't give the others a fair 
chance, and what with his screams and one thing 
and another, they'd soon had enough of it. So, 
being good swimmers, they sheered off to look for 
a quieter berth. But they couldn't persuade Brump- 
ton to go with them. He wasn't going to leave that 
crazy youngster. So the five came away by them- 
selves and got picked up, an hour or so afterwards, 
from an upturned boat they soon sighted. But that 
was the last news they could give us of poor Brump- 
ton — seeing him still on the raft and trying to coax 
the crazy lad to be quiet. What happened after 
that nobody knows " 

"But," I interposed, "are you sure we are speak- 
ing of the same man? I have heard very different 
details of Brumpton's death." 

"Yes, yes," replied the sergeant, "there was only 
one Brumpton. I knew him well. And these men 
I'm telling you about — Carter, Fish, and the others 
— served in my company, same as he did. Most 
likely you heard about him giving up for another 
man when there wasn't support for two. That's 
the bit that got into the papers. I didn't have the 
facts first-hand, but it'ud be just like Brumpton to 



52 SOULS IN KHAKI 

do a thing like that. Several were saying the other 
was a man named Peter Ross." 

"But," I pointed out, "there doesn't seem any 
connection between the two accounts." 

"Neither is there," replied the sergeant. "A tidy 
time would have gone by between the one affair 
and the other. What became of the daft boy nobody 
could say. Very likely him and Brumpton got 
aboard the Cressy, and then, when she was tor- 
pedoed, they'd be thrown in the water again, only 
of course they'd have parted company before that. 
It was a mixed-up affair, the three cruisers being 
blown up one after the other; and a good many sur- 
vivors from one got aboard another, and then had 
a further dose when she was hit." 

And so we have a second glimpse of Brum in the 
area of catastrophe and death, and in that second 
glimpse we again see him sacrificing himself for an- 
other. Indeed, the more deeply I have probed my 
two cases, the more impressive were the facts that 
came to light respecting them. Another tendency 
was for new facts to emphasise the difference in 
temperament between Brum and Chris and the sim- 
ilarity of spirit that controlled their actions. 

Not that it was possible to associate a supreme 
manifestation of that spirit with these two in par- 
ticular. The bent of my inquiries being noted, I 
now heard on all hands of other Salvationist soldiers 
and sailors who, on specific occasions, had either 
given or risked their lives for comrades. Never 
did I visit a Salvation Army corps without learn- 
ing that some of its members, returning home on 
a few days' leave, had testified from personal ob- 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 53 

servation to acts of heroism and self-sacrifice per- 
formed by Salvationist chums. Again and again 
I heard of Salvationists on land and sea whose gal- 
lantry, unlike that of Brum and Chris, had been 
so conspicuous as to win awards from the authori- 
ties. Tidings reached me of towns beflagging them- 
selves, and according civac welcomes, in honour of 
Salvationist privates and N.C.O.'s who had won 
the D.C.M. or other distinction. 

By following up a small proportion of those cases, 
I could have filled this boolv twice over with stories 
such as those of Brum and Chris. Especially tempt- 
ing were some of the possibilities that opened be- 
fore me, as, for instance, the following extract from 
a letter written by Sergeant Mitchell (a soldier of 
the Blackwood Salvation Army corps), who had 
received a D.C.M. : 

"The old saying that to win battle honours you 
have to be a kind of dare-devil is false, and it has 
been amply proved so in this war. It is the men 
of God who have come out on top. It was Christ 
in me and for me that enabled me to do what I 
did." 

But I could spare no more time for initial investi- 
gations, especially as the facts already elicited 
showed that the devout Christian, because he was 
a devout Christian, faced danger unafraid, in no 
wise concerned for his own safety, but full of solici- 
tude for the safety of others. On entering the bat- 
tle arena he lived triumphantly in the spirit, having 
risen superior to the flesh. 

We know how readily faith will flicker during 
trivial trials of daily life; which made more re- 



m SOULS IN KHAKI 

markable the proof that, under the supreme, death- 
facing test, faith burnt bright and steadily. 

My immediate interest now shifted from Salva- 
tionists to the others — to the massed thousands 
marching and drilling on the verdant undulations; 
to those men and lads who, while the glory of an 
absolute self-sacrifice rested upon all, were other- 
wise a miscellaneous host representing all groups 
of the Christian Church, all degrees of piety, and 
all shades of unbelief and of indifference to religion. 
At least, they had been thus widely divergent in 
civil life. What of them now? 

Was I not already discerning indications that, by 
so nobly volunteering to face death for the sake of 
others, those men and lads had won their entrance 
into a mental realm where the factors of mortal 
existence stood revealed with a new distinctness? 

Nor in this connection can I forbear from repeat- 
ing what was said to me, at that time, by the woman 
officer of a North London Salvation Army corps. 

"Early in the war," she said, "a great many young 
fellows of this neighbourhood, including all our big 
lads, went as soldiers; and there hasn't been a single 
week-end lately but one or more of them, being 
home on leave, have turned up at our meetings. They 
were splendid before, but they are still more splen- 
did now. Of course in some cases their experiences 
have been terrible, but one can't help seeing that 
they have come through the awful trial with new 
strength and a new steadfastness — yes, and with a 
new sweetness in their smiles. In fact, I don't grieve 
over our brave soldiers. They seem happy and 
safe. The worst tragedy, I often feel, is here at 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 55 

home. Look at the crowded public houses ! Look 
at the overflowing cinemas! Look at the newspa- 
pers, with their two leading features side by side — 
one half of the page devoted to the slain and ac- 
counts of the terrible fighting, with the other half 
given up to finery and fashions for women!" 

But I am quoting this lady in view of the narra- 
tive to which those remarks led her. 

"A few evenings ago," she said, "a lad living 
near here (not a Salvationist, by the way) arrived 
home rather unexpectedly from the firing line. He 
found a party in progress, with his mother in eve- 
ning dress, with wine on the sideboard, and with 
all the company in boisterous spirits. The lad, who 
had never been away from his people for so long 
before, had been longing for that homecoming; but 
I can understand his disappointment at finding a 
house full of noisy people in place of the quiet do- 
mestic privacy he had pictured. After the scenes 
he had just come from, one can understand how 
hard he found it to adapt himself to the frivolous 
gathering. But it seems he struggled on fairly well 
until, something being said about the theatre tax, 
his mother exclaimed: 'Oh, this horrid war! it 
does so interfere with our pleasures, doesn't it?' 
Then the boy broke down and half sobbed: 'Oh, 
mother, mother, why can't you understand?' " 

But more important (because of general applica- 
tion) was the evidence yielded by my continued 
visits to the huts. 

Several times mention was made of what befell 
Salvationists when, before going to bed in their 
crowded camp quarters, they knelt to- pray. It 



56 SOULS IN KHAKI 

is not surprising that here and there a lad, arriving 
tired and perhaps dispirited among new com- 
panions, should be so oppressed by vulgar, and some- 
times obscene, talk going on around him that he 
refrained from any outward manifestation of his 
devotions; nor that such a one, dissatisfied with, 
the compromise of secret prayer, should, on the 
second or third night, gain courage openly to kneel 
in the sight of all his comrades. And since it 
seemed that he always provoked a storm of jeering, 
sneering, and mocking, one felt uncertain which 
act of the young Salvationist showed a finer courage 
— that of enlisting in King George's army or that 
of revealing himself a soldier of Christ. There 
were, of course, those other Salvationists — the ma- 
jority — who publicly prayed on the first night as 
on all others; and the evidence was general that 
they not only escaped persecution, but won their 
way to a position of great influence in the hut. 

"You see," said one Salvation Army officer, "if 
a man is true to his colours from the outset, all 
goes well. But there must be no faltering; the 
other men object strongly to that. They respect 
any one who is thorough in his religion, but they 
don't like half measures." 

Other Salvation Army officers said the same, and 
it never occurred to me to question their deduction, 
which seemed to have full authority from the facts; 
though certainly, with one's sympathies so readily 
engaged by the human frailty of diffident and sensi- 
tive youths, it was not easy to see why Tommy 
should feel called upon to supervise, and with a 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 57 

drastic hand control, the forms taken by the religion 
of other persons. 

But it came to light that the deduction was so 
Incomplete as to be misleading. The truth dawned 
upon me by stages. 

I heard of several significant cases, including that 
of Corporal Humphries, whose military duties held 
him for some months at a camp in the Aldershot 
district. 

"Corporal Humphries exercises a wonderful in- 
fluence on the men," said the officer in charge of 
the local Salvation Army hut. "He commands re- 
spect not only among those in his own hut, but 
over a very wide circle beyond. The men consult 
him in their difficulties and defer to his judgment. 
Last New Year's Eve they paid him a much-appre- 
ciated compliment in the way they celebrated the 
occasion. They told him beforehand they had had 
things all their way up till then, so they were going 
to let his Ideas have a show for once. And when 
the celebration took place it was scrupulously tee- 
total, no man touching a drop of liquor all the eve- 
ning. You see how the soldiers are influenced by 
a man when his religion Is seen to be thorough and 
uncompromising." 

And my informant went on to mention further 
facts that were specially illuminating. 

"After a while," he said, "another Salvationist 
came to those quarters — a lad from the north. 
There was nothing to show he was a Salvationist, 
nor did the two get in touch with one another 
at first; but somebody found out, and word must 
have been passed round among the thirty or forty 



58 SOULS IN KHAKI 

other men. That night, soon after he had gone 
to bed, Corporal Humphries heard a disturbance 
at the other end of the hut; and, thinking his 
services might be useful as a peacemaker, he went 
to see what was amiss. But he was practically 
waved on one side, and the men said: 'You are 
all right; we have nothing to say against you. But 
if anybody else calls himself a Salvationist here, he 
must act straight. It's got to be one thing or the 
other; we don't want any half-and-half chaps in 
this hut.' Then It turned out that, being afraid of 
ridicule, the young Salvationist had not knelt by 
his bedside to say his prayers. The poor fellow had 
a lot of rather rough criticism to listen to, and it 
took him some time to live down that first mistake, 
for which he made no attempt to hide his shame 
and penitence. However, being a thoroughly sound 
young chap at heart, he ultimately won his comrades' 
respect and confidence in a marked degree." 

It seemed obvious to me that the young Salva- 
tionist had not been called to book in any mere 
spirit of mild horseplay. Whence, then, the British 
Army's anxiety that its representatives of religion 
should be above reproach? To this question an 
answer was suggested by the following remarks of 
a Salvationist officer in a Kentish camp : 

"Quite a number of our lads in the ranks," he 
said, "come and report themselves here. They help 
with our open-air services. But their most use- 
ful work, I think, is in the quiet influence they are 
able to exercise over their comrades. It is not lim- 
ited to private conversations, A fine young fellow 
told me he was sitting on his bed reading his Bible 



FAITHFUL FIGHTERS 69 

when several gathered round, and one said, 'Don't 
keep It all to yourself, lad. If you read it aloud 
we can all hear.' He had quite a good audience as 
he read several chapters; and, after that, Bible read- 
ings in the hut became a regular thing, the lad often 
being called upon to explain passages. I heard of 
another Salvationist who, when getting up from 
his knees one evening, was asked if he would mind 
praying for them all; and from that date a short 
prayer-meeting, led by the Salvationist, often took 
place before they turned in." 

I began to see signs that to the heroes who were 
ready to fight and die — at any rate to a large pro- 
portion of them — religion had become an imme- 
diate personal interest. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 

Civilian khaki — Repressed emotion at Victoria — Officers and their 
relatives — The mother: an incident — Thoughts on the train — 
Innocent hypocrites — The smell of the sea — An emotional reac- 
tion — High spirits afloat — England in France — A town's tribu- 
lation — Red Cross work: dramatic night scene — Unloading a 
hospital train — Smiles from a Salvation Army ambulance — 
Depressing stretcher cases — Instructive sitting cases — Thrilling 
fortitude. 

With Foreign Office co-operation, the War Office 
put in motion certain delicate machinery to ensure 
that, along our front in Flanders, the non-official 
civilian should have a footing and facilities; and 
early one morning I repaired to Victoria Station 
in clothes which, while not a khaki uniform, were 
(in accordance with influential instructions) of a 
cut and complexion generally to resemble such a 
uniform when viewed from afar. 

Well before the whistle blew, our train was 
crowded (mainly with British officers) far beyond 
its seating capacity. The platform was thronged 
with mothers, fathers, wives, sweethearts, sisters, 
and little brothers. 

Moments of tense ordeal were passing. For arti- 
ficial jauntiness rings more tragically than unre- 

60 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 61 

strained sobbing, and a piteous element of grimace 
enters into the smile that is attempted in defiance 
of a breaking heart. Less of an emotional strain 
attends the entraining of troops, when poor old 
mothers blubber outright, and no relative is ashamed 
of streaming eyes. But breeding and class involve 
strange obligations; and at the departure of the 
officers' train there was a conspiracy to deny grief 
the solace of tears. 

A little chap in an Eton suit, his lips and chin 
quivering, bravely saluted Daddy good-bye with a 
small hand raised smartly to position. Several of 
us were crowding within the entrance to a Pullman 
coach, our feet hemmed in by sprawling luggage. 

Already there was the first tremor of movement 
In the train, and a young Lieutenant, as a prelimi- 
nary to joining us, had just kissed his mother fare- 
well. 

They were a notable couple — his sensitive features 
conveying a suggestion of birth and social position 
which the tasteful simplicity of her dress confirmed. 
Equal to all trials is the quiet self-control which 
belongs to the traditions of patrician blood. To all 
trials? No; not quite all. 

See ! Her arms suddenly outstretch and in frantic 
abandonment are flung round him. The seconds 
tick out as with head bowed he is locked immovable 
In that crushing embrace. Twenty years have passed 
In a flash, and still the precious infant head is rest- 
ing on her breast. But all is now at an agonising 
end. For (as the action so vividly reveals) her 
heart has told her that she will never see him more 
■ — that during the weary years to come she will feed, 



62 SOULS IN KHAKI 

ravenous and unsatisfied, on the memory of that 
last sensation of having his shoulder and warm 
neck pressing against her hands and bosom. 

The train has advanced less than a couple of 
yards. He is now safely on the steps, his head still 
drooping, his face ashen. But he need not suppose 
that the others are watching him. Poor lads ! all 
their faces are dull and still. With each it has been 
a mother, a father, a sweetheart, or some one — 
nay, with many it was a group of dear ones. 

For those boys, at that moment, existence had 
become divided into two contrary phases — the 
golden past of honeysuckle, laughter, and happiness; 
the leaden future of bullets, blood, and grim un- 
certainty. 

It deepened one's sense of the contrast that we 
should be running through the grey region of South 
London roofs — an experience ironically suggestive 
of the beginnings of former holidays, spent either 
on our healthy seashore or among the bright inter- 
ests of the Continent. We stared out of window 
with fixed eyes and set lips. 

How grievously changed was the world! France 
— Belgium — no longer do thy names suggest sunny 
gaieties, but, instead, blows, wounds, and groaning. 
We are bound for a carnival, not of flowers and 
frolic, but of death and destruction. 

The remorseless train was hurrying us towards 
the war — hurrying that boy farther and farther from 
his mother, who already, it might be, deaf to those 
assisting her along the platform, was staring with 
fearful eyes into the blank future. Sore, indeed, 
her present plight — unless she knows there arc angels 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 63 

In Heaven. Let Pity stretch sheltering wings over 
those who have sought to anchor their lives to earthly- 
joys, which, as the train speeds south, are seen to 
have no permanence. Happy they who have thrown 
beyond this world those moorings of love and faith 
that hold fast now and always. For on that jour- 
ney from Victoria Station one realised anew that 
things of the earth melt like vapour, while only 
the things discerned by spiritual senses are solid 
and enduring rock. 

There was some lightening of the mental burden 
as we reached suburban gardens, with their com- 
forting green, their reassuring blossoms. The 
subalterns have lit their cigarettes, concerned to 
convince one another that nothing is amiss — and all 
the while omitting to laugh and smile. O innocent 
hypocrites ! Senior ofiicers, for whom this is a re- 
turn journey, confer earnestly together, striving to 
revive an interest in trenches, shells, and night at- 
tacks, and so shut off mental pictures of sweet, wist- 
ful faces floating through recent scenes in home sur- 
roundings. 

Having piled our kits in a recess, a number of us 
stood jammed together in a corridor; but before 
the train had reached open country^ a friendly at- 
tendant, having contrived a makeshift seat in the 
car, came and singled me out for the privilege of 
sitting on it. Nor — ^being, as would seem, frater- 
nally minded towards the solitary civilian — would 
he tolerate my reluctance to profit by such favour- 
itism. So, besides being soothed by an act of human 
kindness, I now surveyed the scene from a position 
of physical ease. 



64 SOULS IN KHAKI 

But that railway journey continued to be a dull 
ordeal, and I think everybody was relieved when, 
upon the train stopping at a pier lashed by grey 
waves, we found occupation for our minds and 
muscles in swarming, luggage-laden, through turn- 
stiles and formalities towards the steamboat. 

The smell of the salt sea — always incense in the 
nostrils of Young England — gave the finishing touch 
to an emotional reaction; I found myself in the midst 
of compressed lips, buoyant footsteps, and shining 
eyes. The lads in leather and khaki had now found 
their voices, which rang with animation. 

So that already was I being instructed by the 
experience which corrects surmise. A depressing 
opening had, at the time, seemed to spread its bane- 
ful influence like an evil prophecy over the great ad- 
venture of going to the war; for — as we novices 
might be excused for reasoning — if all looked so 
grey at the start, how increasingly dark would we 
not find things on proceeding towards our goal, 
which was like to prove black indeed ! 

Fallacious reasoning, of course — as was shown by 
that enthusiastic embarkation. 

In the highest spirits, then, our enthusiastic lads 
were going forth to face perils incurred for other 
people's sake. And, after all, had not their earlier 
oppression meant nothing but an impersonal sor- 
rowing for Mother, Dad, and the others? With 
the door now shut on that domestic episode, the self- 
sacrificing boys confronted only their own risks ; and, 
consequently, they were supremely content. 

When you come to think of it, how could those 
voluntar}^ defenders of freedom be anything else 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 65 

but happy? Though we so constantly misjudge the 
evidences, eternal justice runs through all human 
affairs. 

With the voyage begun, nobody (unless ruled out 
by a sea-sick tendency) could resist the contagion 
of our young fellows' exaltation; and I, for one, 
certainly never crossed the Channel with my senses 
tuned to a keener appreciation of the experience. 

A blustering wind was blowing, and great grey 
waves swung across our course; as was all in key 
with the occasion. Note, moreover, two picturesque 
facts belonging to the war; namely, the univ^ersal 
putting-on of life-belts, and the sight of our naval 
escort nosing her powerful way through the smoking 
crests. 

On deck it was my good fortune to fall in with 
several hearty British Columbians who had donned 
the khaki; and, clinging to handrails, we talked en- 
thusiastically of Canada until the heaving boat 
reached her destination. 

Then we entered a town which was of double In- 
terest because occupied by two peoples. A tem- 
porary British nationality had been superimposed on 
a permanent French nationality. The women, chil- 
dren, and shopkeepers were native, while the visit- 
ing population figured conspicuously as khaki pe- 
destrians strolling along the pavements, khaki squads 
busy at the docks, and khaki columns marching 
through the streets to camps on neighbouring heights. 

One is accustomed to think of anxiety and sor- 
row as of merely Individual or family concern; and 
though a son be maimed, or the breadwinner lies 
dead on his bed, the community is wont to pursue 



66 SOULS IN KHAKI 

its unheeding life through normal channels of busi- 
ness, pleasure, and frivolity. But here one found 
a town in tribulation, with its Casino, hotels, and 
various other institutions turned into hospitals. 

Traversing the principal thoroughfares with a 
Salvation Army Adjutant, I became vaguely aware 
that, for the time being, this French town's chief 
Industry was the care of sick and wounded English 
soldiers. But at night that knowledge was burnt 
upon my heart by a series of vividly pathetic scenes 
belonging to the great world drama. 

The evening was far advanced when, returning 
from Salvation Army quarters established on a 
suburban eminence, I was being driven down into 
the town, which, as a precaution against air attacks, 
was wholly unlllumlned. But, at a bend in the road, 
suddenly we saw, moving slowly far below, three 
pairs of white lights, which shone like the eyes of 
huge unseen dragons crawling across a valley of 
darkness. 

"Motor ambulances," explained my companion 
(who, as It happened, superintended the large fleet 
of Salvation Army ambulances operating in the 
British war zone). "A hospital train," he added, 
"has just arrived from the front." 

Judging by their course, those pairs of lights 
had crossed the harbour bridge and were entering 
main thoroughfares. Behind them, two other pairs 
of lights now w'ere visible. 

As we drew nearer, and caught glimpses of the 
commanding size of those vehicles, my imagination 
was more and more Impressed by the significance 
of their gentle pace, affording, as it did, so striking 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 67 

a contrast with the thumping clatter and headlong 
speed to which modem motors have accustomed 
us. It was pathetic to see them, with abated power 
and muffled noise, creeping so deliberately through 
the deserted streets. And the bright illumination 
they cast upon the roadway — there was something 
very touching in that flagrant violation of the law 
of darkness. Air risks were clearly of less moment 
than the necessity to ensure for the ambulances a 
■smooth and unobstructed course. Besides, if a raid- 
ing aeronaut beheld those slow-moving lights, would 
not his right arm be paralysed by pity? 

Every few minutes saw an addition to the num- 
ber of double gleams in the piteous procession. 

My companion, having explained that the train 
would not yet be nearly unloaded, agreed to take 
me to the railway terminus, so that I might see 
the wounded at close quarters. Accordingly, after 
crossing the bridge, we were soon alighting from 
our little car, which was left to await our return 
in the roadway it monopolised. For there, as else- 
where, the town at that late hour was a solitude. 

As we walked across the empty courtyard, I re- 
called that, a stranger to the sight of newly wounded 
men, I had a name for being easily unnerved in the 
presence of calamity and suffering. Added to the 
memory of turning away, faint and shuddering, 
from street accidents, was the recollection of this 
recent comment from a little boy: "Well, you're a 
nice one to be going to the war! Why, the other 
day when I cut my finger you turned quite pale." 

So, as we passed through the booking hall, I 
took the precaution of warning the Adjutant: 



68 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Please don't mind If I'm a bit upset, and make an 
exhibition of myself, when we see the poor chaps." 

Walking towards an illumined part of the station, 
we soon came upon the hospital train — a train of 
specially constructed coaches which, long and lofty, 
shone with electric light, white paint, and cleanli- 
ness. Besides a corridor entrance at either end, each 
coach had central sliding doors, which, having been 
run back, gave us such view of the interior as re- 
vealed tiers of bunks aligned on both sides. Along 
the central gangway moved nurses (offering their 
ministrations here and there among the bunks) and 
figures in khaki — i.e. an occasional doctor, a few 
dressers, and a number of bearers. From one of 
the bunks a burdened stretcher would be lifted and 
carried by two bearers to the open doorway, there 
to be carefully received by another pair of bearers 
standing on the platform. By them, after they had 
rested it on the ground and adjusted their positions, 
the stretcher was borne slowly away to another part 
of the station. 

Standing beside one of the coaches, I glanced at 
many stretchers without seeing more than recum- 
bent, still forms covered by blankets. Each head 
was sunk in a pillow, and — the night being chilly — 
a blanket was drawn up to the chin. Beyond one 
glimpse of a deathly white cheek and temple, bor- 
dered by wet and glistening hair, I saw none of the 
faces. Bandages round several heads were visible. 

We walked along the platform and watched iden- 
tical streams of stretchers slowly issuing from other 
coaches. It continued to be the rule that the cases 
lay Inert, whether In the train or in transit. Ex- 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 69 

ceptlons to that rule were (i) arms moving on a 
stretcher that passed me, and (2) glimpses I caught 
of tobacco smoke arising from a bunk on a train. 
Otherwise those scores and scores of stricken men 
and lads lay motionless — all the vigour of their 
young manhood dwindled to helpless, unmoving fig- 
ures swaddled in blankets. For the sake of his 
countiy, each had risked a mangled body — and in- 
curred it. 

There seemed something appropriate in all this 
occurring at night, when nobody was about. The 
great drama of a world-wide war was being enacted 
in public; but here, I felt, we were having a peep 
behind the scenes. It lent a special grimness to 
the occasion that the bearers should perform their 
office with hushed voices, soft footsteps, and grave 
faces. 

Tragedy is dumb show; warfare without any re- 
deeming touch of animation — it was indeed a gloomy 
scene. 

We entered that unending stream of silent men 
carrying their piteous burdens, and came presently 
to an exterior length of roofed pavement which bor- 
dered an area of roadway where many motor am- 
bulances had assembled. A long line of them had 
backed against the kerb, where, with their hang- 
ings drawn aside, they stood ready to receive the 
stretchers. 

Meanwhile the arriving cases were subjected to 
individual scrutiny, an officer putting some question 
to each, bending low to catch the reply, and, where 
none was forthcoming, consulting a label attached 
to the patient's clothing. Information thus acquired 



70 SOULS IN KHAKI 

was Imparted to seated clerks who were keeping, or 
checking, a register; and every case was allocated 
to a suitable hospital, Indicated in the choice of am- 
bulance communicated to the bearers. 

Standing on the pavement, I found myself scruti- 
nising the nearest ambulance, which wanted one 
more case to complete its complement; and while 
my eyes were fixed on that grim interior, so sug- 
gestive of helplessness and suffering, an incident oc- 
curred that went far to relieve the tension of my 
thoughts and give me a sounder insight into the pass- 
ing scene. 

There was a movement In one of the upper bunks, 
and, with the aid of elbows, a lad raised himself 
Into a half-sitting posture and looked about him 
with a face of healthy colour lit up by cheerful 
curiosity. 

Here obviously was a boy engaged on a wonderful 
adventure. The enlistment, the training, the fight- 
ing, the wound, the railway journey — everything, so 
far, had been delightfully Interesting (his expres- 
sion seemed to indicate this), and now he was all 
agog to know where he had got to and what was 
going to happen next. 

Incidentally, I dare say, he wondered who in 
the world I could be, standing there and staring so 
hard; but anyway he gave me a nod and a smile 
which, as has been hinted, were not only human 
and friendly, but reassuring and instructive. 

"Ah!" exclaimed the Adjutant, on rejoining me 
after reporting to an officer what were my credentials 
and business, "so I see you are inspecting one of 
our ambulances" — whereupon, glancing at the side 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 71 

of the vehicle, I saw it was inscribed "The Salvation 
Army" — words which somehow seemed in key with 
the happy look on the face of the wounded lad. 

"Suppose we now go and see the sitting cases," 
added the Adjutant. "For, you know, the wounded 
are divided, from the ambulance point of view, into 
two classes — stretcher cases and sitting cases. Seri- 
ous injuries, as well as slight Injuries, are found in 
both groups. A man may be badly hit in the body, 
arms, or head, and yet be able to walk; In which 
case he will travel as a sitter. On the other hand, 
a man's wound may be unimportant and yet so situ- 
ated that it is impossible or inadvisable for him to 
use his feet, so he becomes a stretcher case." 

Proceeding to another part of the station, we 
almost immediately happened upon one of the 
most pathetic and impressive sights that my eyes 
have ever beheld. It was a motionless, irregular 
queue of muddied, unkempt, wounded men — men 
whose injuries had been washed and dressed behind 
the firing line, but whose condition otherwise was 
that In which they had left the trenches. 

The Adjutant said most of them would have 
been wounded since I arrived In France. In other 
words, when, a few hours before, I was travelling 
down from Victoria, they were strong and hearty, 
bearing arms, with elastic footsteps, expanding lungs, 
and buoyant spirits. Now they were shattered, 
limp, and feeble invalids. 

Without rifles, or haversacks, or belts; In torn, 
cut, dirty, half-unbuttoned tunics; with bandaged 
heads and arms In slings; with faces drawn and 
pale from shock and loss of blood — there stood some 



72 SOULS IN KHAKI 

scores of Great Britain's defenders, in an aspect 
the more noble because lacking every outward sym- 
bol of nobility. To look at them, those stricken 
champions of freedom might almost have been a 
string of squalid tramps. 

By what a strangely ironic fate they were stand- 
ing there all alone in that spacious railway hall, 
when millions of British men and women, with hearts 
full of love and gratitude, would have deemed no 
trouble too high a price for the opportunity of ac- 
claiming, thanking, and serving them. 

We all know our wounded lads at the later stage 
of blue suits, their faces testifying to soap and water, 
happiness, and restored health. It was a higher 
privilege to see them at that early stage, when 
their glory seemed the greater for their grime. 

While we stood there, the queue resumed its 
progress, which proved somewhat sluggish, many 
footsteps dragging heavily. A tall man with 
bandaged eyes groped with outstretched hands, as- 
sisted by guiding pressure from a left-arm casualty 
walking beside him. 

Proceeding in the opposite direction, we came to 
the train's foremost section, where sitting cases had 
alighted from ordinary first-class coaches. Retrac- 
ing our steps, and proceeding in the other direction, 
we came to an area of roadway where those cases 
were accommodated in motor omnibuses. 

And thus we realised the great advantage, in an 
economy of ambulance space, which sitting cases 
possessed over stretcher cases; nor, obviously, did 
our unselfish lads begrudge the deprivation of ease 
involved in the alternative. 



ARRIVAL IN FRANCE 73 

Nay, thinking about the demeanour of those lads, 
and reflecting that they showed no impatience at 
their mode of traveUing, I began to marvel that 
they showed no impatience under a far heavier prov- 
ocation. For it suddenly occurred to me that, though 
they were suffering the pain, aches, nausea, and 
heightened temperature resulting from wounds and 
shocks, yet I had heard no moan, groan, or word 
of lamentation escape from one of them. Nay (for 
I walked along a further queue to find out) those 
fine fellows neither uttered any sound of complaint 
nor bewailed their lot by look or gesture. 

Unselfishness had provided a great opportunity 
for fortitude. The tragedy was swallowed up in 
glory. 



CHAPTER V 

VISITING THE WOUNDED 

In a transformed Casino — The man of many wounds: a smile 
framed by lint — Captors of the Bluff — Irrepressible invalids — 
Map-making on a bed quilt — Heroes in their teens — A blushing 
British soldier — "We young chaps are just as brave" — Cud- 
dling the Bible: a story left untold — A man without hands — 
The Salvationist lass and the cigarette — Studies in gratitude — 
At the Canadian hospital — Death-bed rapture — Looking into 
a mother's eyes — Gasping and chatting — A letter to Aunty — 
Salvationist sisters: welcome friends and messengers — Unself- 
ish crusaders meet. 

Going next morning, with two Salvationist sisters, 
to visit the Casino, I stood in a tiled corridor before 
great glass doors — on the threshold of new ex- 
periences. 

A clean, bright foreground of beds and whiteness 
and pillowed heads, with busy nurses in dainty uni- 
forms, the atmosphere charged with sunshine and 
iodoform, while, visible through the encircling win- 
dows, was a background of sea and sky in two glori- 
ous shades of blue — such was my impression of the 
whole. But soon I was looking at a part. 

Three nurses were bending over a bed. Having 
just covered the patient's right foot, they removed 
and replaced bandages that swathed his left knee; 
then, after attending to a chest wound, they re- 
dressed areas of flesh on the lower part of one 

74 



VISITING THE WOUNDED 75 

arm and the upper part of the other; at the con- 
clusion of which task one nurse proceeded to treat 
the right hand, and the other two nurses departed, 
leaving me with an unobstructed view of the man's 
head, which was enveloped in bandages save for a 
circular space that left his eyes, nose, and mouth 
uncovered. 

And this is the amazing fact to which I am lead- 
ing: a sustained merry smile was framed within 
that round hole cut in the white mask. 

Please note that the war was producing phenomena 
which flatly contradicted ordinary experience. It is 
a matter of common knowledge that lacerated flesh, 
and broken bones cause physical suffering, which, 
finds expression in moaning, ejaculations, and grim- 
aces. Yet overnight I had seen hundreds of wounded 
men who, without exception, were complacent; and 
here we found smiles on the lips of a man who was 
injured in head, body, and all his limbs — ^perchance 
the man of fifteen wounds who was so tenderly con- 
veyed in a Salvation Army ambulance. 

We pushed open the great glass doors and en- 
tered. The Salvationists at once visited beds In a 
row skirting the left-hand wall. Other rows ran 
in other directions, and for a moment I stood look- 
ing about me, uncertain in which direction to proceed. 
Then my gaze met that of a brown-skinned man 
whose friendly eyes as good as asked me to go and 
talk to him. 

"Hullo, old chap, and how are you?" next minute 
I was blurting out, not having bethought me of suit- 
able words wherewith to greet a wounded com- 
patriot met in hospital on foreign soil. 



76 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Fine, thanks. How's yourself?" he replied, and 
then rattled on: "I say, d'you know we took the 
Bluff! Talk about a neat job — why, inside twenty 
minutes all the fighting was over, and we'd won back 
what we'd held before and more trenches besides. 
We fairly took 'em by surprise, and up went their 
hands. 'Mercy! Mercy! Camerade !' they cried." 

He hardly gave himself time for coherent articu- 
lation, and soon it was as though, in his eagerness, 
he had found a means of pouring forth two streams 
of detail at one and the same time. But I turned 
to find that the supplementary information was com- 
ing from a man in the next bed. 

"Some of the boys," he was exclaiming, "went 
right on — farther than they ought, in fact. But 
they were wild with delight to be out on the top 
for once. We had got our chance at last, and we 
made the most of It. You see, the 'International' 
trench goes this way"; and, having struggled Into 
a sitting position, he began a little map-making on 
the bed quilt. 

By which time the infection had spread to his 
neighbour on the other side. 

"That's right," exclaimed the third enthusiast. 
"We've stopped their enfilading fire. It came from 
a circular trench on the left. But that's in our hands 
now." 

Of course I gave them a good scolding. 

"The idea of exciting yourselves like this! Don't 
you know that you are wounded, and that you are 
invalids, and that you've got to keep quiet? You 
lie down at once, sir." 

Thus admonished, the worst offender wriggled 



VISITING THE WOUNDED 77 

back, somewhat shamefaced, Into a recumbent posi- 
tion. 

"Where did you get hit?" I asked, while ad- 
justing the bedclothes about his shoulders. 

"Two in the left leg," he humbly replied. 

"Anything in the paper about our fight?" coax- 
ingly inquired my oldest friend in the group. 

"Yes," I admitted, "a lot. And everybody is 
tremendously proud of you. Still," I sternly added, 
"you're not to think any more about it. Fill your 
minds with pleasant thoughts and get well as soon 
as possible — that's your present job." 

It chanced that, while I was uttering these homi- 
lies, my eyes alighted on an attractive, smiling face 
in a row of beds some way off. Instinct took me 
to that face, which, from being youthful in the dis- 
tance, became downright boyish near at hand. 

"But," was my involuntary exclamation, "surely 
you are not eighteen?" 

"I am wow!" he beamingly replied. 

"Yes, but when you joined !" 

"Oh, well," he replied, brazening it out, "I didn't 
want to miss the chance — and, you see, I was strong 
for my age — and, and, well, I knew I'd be eighteen 
In ten months' time." 

"And how long have you been in hospital?" For 
his high spirits hinted at convalescence. 

"We only came In last night." 

"I say," exclaimed an exuberant voice behind me, 
"do you know we've taken the Bluff? Isn't it sim- 
ply ripping!" 

Turning, I beheld, on the next bed, a still more 
juvenile face. 



78 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Why, you naughty boy!" I exclaimed. "What 
are you doing in the British Army?" 

Whereupon (partly because of the irregularity of 
his attestation, but mainly from sheer gratification) 
that wounded British soldier blushed. 

If only his mother and his father could have seen 
him! Ah, if all the mothers and fathers could but 
see their wounded, undaunted darlings — ^young 
Britain in arms for liberty, yet still with silky down 
above its laughing lips ! 

I could not forbear leaning over him and whis- 
pering, as a sort of message from the mothers and 
fathers of our Empire: 

"You brave, brave little boy." 

"Oh, well," he replied, with shining eyes, "the 
men say we are just as brave as they are. And we 
are, too!" 

Here one of the Salvationist sisters came, and, 
drawing me aside, said : 

"There's a man over there who is holding a Bible, 
and he says it saved his life. I don't know in what 
way he means, but I thought you would like to hear 
his story. Then do you see that last case on the 
next line to this? He does so appreciate having 
somebody to talk to, and if you could spare him a 
little time he says he would be ever so grateful. I 
stayed as long as I dared, but the others think it's 
rather unkind if one doesn't save a little time for 
them. The poor chap has lost both hands, and, 
I'm afraid, cannot recover." 

"I say," exclaimed the senior lad, seeing me about 
to depart, "you'll come again and talk to us, won't 
you?" 



VISITING THE WOUNDED 79 

"Yes — do !" impetuously broke in the junior lad. 
"It's awfully jolly having visitors, you know." 

"All right, little boys — I'll try to. Be quick and 
get well. Good-bye." 

Then I went to a white-faced man who, breath- 
ing evenly, with closed eyes, was hugging a Bible 
against his neck. 

"You've got a good friend there," I said. 

He did not open his eyes. Instinctively I bent 
my head to catch any whispered reply. Soon came 
the faintly articulated words : 

"It saved my life." 

He looked to be about forty, but spoke in the 
gentle accents of a child — a drowsy child. 

"Ah, you are very, very sleepy, aren't you?" 

"Yes," he murmured; and I softly withdrew to 
the maimed man who was probably dying. 

He had been in hospital for some time, and al- 
ready (as was to be revealed) had woven a web 
of new expedients about his crippled life. 

My eyes rested in some wonderment upon the 
half-consumed cigarette lying on his table, and he 
made haste to tell me, with pleasure sparkling in 
his eyes, that the Salvation Army lady had, by kindly 
lending her hands to the business, enabled him to 
smoke. 

"That was a great treat," he said, "because, you 
see, it isn't often the orderlies are able to do it 
for me. I take up too much of their time without 
that. They come and feed me at meals; and you've 
no idea how patient and kind they are." 

It was natural to offer a continuation of the ap- 
preciated service. 



80 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"No, thank you," he replied, "I don't think I'll 
smoke any more, because it's very nearly tea time"; 
and, indeed, a distribution of cups, eggs, and bread 
and butter had already commenced in the ward. 

So there was an alternative opportunity of serv- 
ing him, and I had the privilege of placing food to 
his mouth. This was to gain experience, and re- 
ceive instruction, in a matter which the patient had 
wellnigh reduced to a science. The fragments of 
buttered bread should be of such and such a size; 
a slight nod would signal his readiness for more; 
an emphatic nod meant egg; by gently pressing 
against the special teacup, he would request its with- 
drawal; and so on. 

Obviously he enjoyed his meal. Moreover, he 
clearly took a sort of pride in the method of its 
administration, and in the smooth working of that 
method. And all the time the peaceful mind of 
that stricken soldier was full of gratitude. 

Think of it: he had given his limbs, and he was 
giving his life, for others; and when anybody in 
return rendered him, in his helplessness, some 
trifling service that cost nothing, he had a thankful 
sense of being greatly favoured. 

The rules of logic do not apply. We can but 
accept the wonderful fact that, because divine jus- 
tice is infallible, this self-sacrificing soldier was tran- 
quil and happy. A sustaining grace — those perhaps 
are the words that best fit the phenomenon. We 
cannot see the angels ; we see only those whom their 
wings support. 

But inevitably that conclusion is partly based on 
experiences that came three days later, when, at an- 



VISITING THE WOUNDED 81 

other British base, I visited a fine hospital built and 
equipped by Canadian money. 

My escort on that occasion was a tall, strong, 
motherly Salvationist who was overflowing with 
love and laughter, and whose sympathy was so 
powerfully engaged by each of the wounded sol- 
diers that they all gave her their friendship and 
confidence. 

Chiefly did I linger beside the beds of three who 
were dying — obviously, and, I think, consciously 
dying. 

Two lay inert In an advanced stage of physical 
feebleness; but patient smiles came into their 
shrunken faces of white transparent flesh. And in 
one case the lad's smiles had a supreme provoca- 
tion. For (granted facilities by the War Office) 
his mother arrived just before we left; but as she 
held his hand, and he looked Into her eyes, the rap- 
ture on his face was much like the peace that had 
shone there before. 

To the third case my attention was called by the 
Salvationist sister, who explained that he wanted 
some letter-writing done for him. This was a man 
who, because his lungs had been torn by shrapnel, 
maintained a broken gasp that was painfully audi- 
ble throughout the ward; and every now and then 
he had to staunch blood overflowing from his mouth. 
Any one, therefore, who judged merely from ex- 
ternals, might well have imagined the patient to 
be in misery. It was not so. We had a long chat 
(yes; although every third word or so was inter- 
rupted by that grievous panting, he was able to 



82 SOULS IN KHAKI 

chat) , and I found his mental outlook composed and 
comfortable. 

True, the inability to communicate with his peo- 
ple had been a weight on his mind; but that trou- 
ble was now past. 

*'Thank you so much," he gratefully replied, when 
I volunteered to write on his behalf. "I should 
like to send a letter to my Aunty" — a request sound- 
ing strangely on the lips of a man who looked to 
be over thirty; and it will indicate how far his ar- 
ticulation was affected when I mention that one word 
in his aunt's address ("Clock-face" — the name of 
her road), because wholly unfamiliar to my ears, 
proved difficult to communicate. 

I asked if there were any one else to whom he 
wished a letter sent. 

"Yes, if it wouldn't be troubling you too much. 
I'd like my sister to know." After giving her name 
and address, he added: "Tell them I've got a 
wound in my right shoulder and left side, and tell 
them my right arm is paralysed, so I can't use it." 

"For, indeed, his body was a shattered wreck. But 
the real man revealed himself as something within, 
yet apart from, his body; and the real man was tran- 
quil, self-possessed, and thoughtful for others. 

"I was talking to him about his soul," the Sal- 
vationist sister afterwards told me. "He is beau- 
tifully prepared to go." 

Nor can I forbear, in this connection, from re- 
ferring to the glad and tender relationship that 
everywhere was visible between the Salvationist sis- 
ter and our wounded soldiers. 

She is of the supremely happy number who, in 



VISITING THE WOUNDED 83 

renouncing passing pleasures, have found abiding 
joy. The stricken men and lads watch wistfully, 
eagerly, while from bed to bed she passes as a bright 
presence, bearing flowers and chocolate in her hands 
and a message in her heart. 

In those hospitals across the Channel I have seen 
her in several personalities, as girl and as matron, 
varying in age, social standing, and degree of experi- 
ence, but never was any difference apparent either 
in the visitor's eager friendship for the wounded 
soldier or the wounded soldier's grateful welcome 
for the visitor. 

They make an inspiring picture, he and she — each 
a voluntary crusader in an unselfish cause; and he 
finds her very human and kind, and her tidings of 
salvation most timely. 



CHAPTER VI 

FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 

A personal confession — Preliminary excursions from G.H.Q. — 
Graduated doses of danger — A disappointing hill — Shattered 
housefronts — Impressive preparations: maps, binoculars, and a 
lunch-basket — The fraternal War Correspondent — An unal- 
tered countryside — Within sight and sound of gun-fire — Peace 
and war, mixed — Shells bursting overhead: a dainty spec- 
tacle — Our ascent of the fosse — Watching an air fight — Atten- 
tions from a German battery — Retreating with the lunch- 
basket — A shower of bullets — Seeking shelter — Water tanks or 
gasometers? 

Concerning myself I made early In this book two 
statements which, though literally true, might seem, 
at a superficial glance, somewhat conflicting. 

I confessed to having ever regarded myself as a 
physical coward, and I announced an eagerness to 
visit the Front. Nor would it be correct to say 
that the desire was entertained in spite of the disa- 
bility. It would be less incorrect to say that the 
desire was entertained because of the disability. 

This book, you will remember, was to embody 
an investigation into the effects on human emotions 
and character of war dangers and the imminence 
of death; and there was one witness whose testi- 
mony promised to be of special value, inasmuch as 
I could first, humanly speaking, choose his experi- 

84 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 85 

ences and then command his fullest confidences — 
that witness being myself; and from this point of 
view it was useful that, instead of being a reckless 
hero accustomed to live a hazardous life, I had al- 
ways shrunk from the thought of bloodshed and 
warfare with twitching nerves and a sickened 
heart. From merely the thought of it, mind you! 

How came it, then — ^you are entitled to ask — that 
I eagerly looked forward actually to undergo an 
experience which, when only a matter of the imagi- 
nation, had filled me with dread? 

I want frankly, humbly, gratefully to acknowledge 
that, from the first, this adventure of going to the 
Front was recognised by me as impossible to be 
undertaken in any spirit of self-reliance — of inse- 
cure dependence on one's own poor powers of for- 
titude. I knew that I could, should, and would lean 
my full weight on the promise of everlasting se- 
curity given to dutiful mortals. I knew that my 
destiny in the hazard would be moulded by divine 
love, and that I could safely go into the enterprise 
without forethought or fear — with no preparation 
beyond accustomed prayer. For I knew that to be 
shot and killed is the most trivial of insignificant 
incidents, when you are sure that angel hosts are 
waiting, with outstretched welcoming arms, on the 
other side of the sense barriers. 

And now, having paved the way with that con- 
fession (necessary for purposes of future reference), 
I will describe the circumstances under which Ger- 
man gunners first fired some of their apparatus of 
war at — or, anyhow, near — me. 

As a prelude to my greater freedom of action, 



S6 SOULS IN KHAKI 

General Headquarters sent me out by car on sev- 
eral occasions under the escort of a Press officer; 
namely, one of those experienced subalterns who are 
charged with the special responsibility of pilot- 
ing journalists, and other visitors, about the Front. 

We began by visiting a town perched on an 
eminence, whence on clear days a view was afforded 
of the distant firing line. But our arrival occurred 
In misty weather, and as the guns sounded faint, and 
the people of that town seemed drowsily indifferent 
to all save their peaceful daily affairs, I got no 
thrill from my sojourn on that hill. 

On another occasion we drove through a town 
which afforded the grim spectacle of several house- 
fronts which had been shattered by aerial bombs — 
and this was getting nearer to the real thing. 

Then came the adventure which I am about to 
describe, and which gave early promise of special 
interest; for a note of organised preparation en- 
tered into our departure that morning from Gen- 
eral Halg's headquarters. 

To begin with, an orderly deposited In the car 
a lunch-basket overflowing with goodly viands that 
looked to be a liberal provision for at least three 
persons — which proved to be the number the ca- 
terer had had in mind. For my attentive Press offi- 
cer came this time accompanied by the War Cor- 
respondent of a London newspaper, who, it seemed, 
because well acquainted with the district to be vis- 
ited, had been asked, and had very kindly con- 
sented, to give us the pleasure of his company, and 
the advantage of his topographical knowledge on 
our excursion. 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 87 

Young, well-built, and of soldierly smartness, the 
War Correspondent looked very dashing in a khaki 
uniform differing from that of an officer only in 
the lack of regimental badges and emblems of rank. 

For the rest, he gave evidence of a fraternal 
spirit by exhibiting two fine pairs of binoculars and 
explaining that, thinking I might be unprovided with 
facilities for long-distance observation (which, in- 
deed, was a correct surmise) he had brought those 
instruments for our joint use. 

Then we entered the car and soon were swiftly 
gliding through the smart quietude of rural France, 
which must not be pictured as presenting — outside 
an area of several miles from the firing line — any 
external indication (except for troops and transport 
occasionally encountered on the road) that a war 
was in progress. Hens clucked and cowslips bloomed 
just as though nothing were the matter. Nay, chil- 
dren still ran and played, and old dames stood gos- 
siping at the gate. 

After passing through Bethune, we went south- 
east, traversing several villages, and so drawing near 
to the zone of fighting. Arriving at a mining cen- 
tre occurring on a broad highroad, where some holed 
and shattered walls could be seen, the authorities 
arrested our car with an intimation that it must 
proceed no farther. We accordingly alighted, and 
while my companions conferred together, I took 
stock of our surroundings. 

What one beheld was neither peace nor war, be- 
cause both. There was the loud noise of gunfire — 
as if occurring in the next street — and exploding 
shells were visible overhead. On the other hand, 



88 SOULS IN KHAKI 

the civilian population were not only minding their 
own business and taking no notice, but (it was Sun- 
day, at noon, with the sun shining) miners stood 
complacently in their shirt sleeves, doing nothing, 
infants sprawled at the doorways, and older chil- 
dren were running and whooping, absorbed in their 
mild sports. 

It was almost like looking at two different moving 
pictures that had been taken by mistake on the same 
film. 

At first my attention was claimed chiefly by some- 
thing in the sky I had not seen there before. A small 
cloud of smoke appeared abruptly — like a blob of 
fleecy cotton wool shining daintily against the blue. 
Then, in quick succession, others appeared — the 
heavens in that area breaking into a veritable rash 
of white eruptions. 

"Ah," the War Correspondent turned to explain, 
on noting my interest, "that's shrapnel bursting. 
Pretty, isn't it? German anti-aircraft guns are shell- 
ing one of our planes. There she is" (and he point- 
ed). "They are shooting rather wide, you will 
notice." 

Searching the azure intently, I saw the gauzy 
insect flying away from the cluster of tiny cumulus 
clouds. 

Then my attention returned to the surrounding 
little community, which was remarkable for behaving 
precisely as such a little community behaves under 
normal conditions. Those people looked as if they 
had been bewitched into an ignorance of what was 
happening round about them. By way of finishing 
touch to the tranquil scene, two little urchins, mov- 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 89 

ing along the roadway, hawked Paris newspapers 
with shrill persistency. Near the railing of a gar- 
den, I saw an old man sweeping the road, and do- 
ing so with leisurely thoroughness, as though his 
whole mind were given to the work. 

In a word, I beheld conditions that burlesqued 
those I expected to find in the war zone. Faced 
by such public indifference, it seemed difficult to un- 
derstand how the peoples of two countries could 
go on fighting one another. In many villages of 
England, I think, the distant war at that moment 
would have been exciting a more lively interest than 
was manifested there, where the people lived amid 
sights, sounds, and smells of the actual conflict. For 
distance lends excitement to the view, and familiarity 
breeds a sort of boredom. 

But, whatever might be the attitude of others, 
to my companions and myself the war continued to 
be of absorbing interest. Carrying between us 
lunch, maps, and binoculars, the Correspondent and 
I proceeded on foot to a mine shaft, where we were 
presently joined by the Press officer, who had mean- 
while reported our arrival and programme to the 
local military command. And with no great fa- 
vour. It seemed, did the local command look upon 
that programme, though disapproval had happily 
not gone the length of a veto. 

Mining operations had brought to the surface a 
huge quantity of material for which there was no 
occasion, and which, accordingly, had been built into 
a heap which had grown, with the lapse of time, 
to a considerable altitude. Knowing of the fine 
view commanded by this fosse, the War Correspond- 



90 SOULS IN KHAKI 

ent had hit upon the excellent idea that we should 
mount to its summit and there picnic within sight 
of the battle front. 

Up the steep incline we toiled, and when at 
length the full ascent was accomplished, all sense of 
fatigue quickly subsided in the pleasure with which 
I looked out on the vast stretch of green landscape 
that lay below. 

Detail for the most part was tiny but well-defined: 
ruddy specks for buildings, a pin-point of yellow 
for a haystack, a spider's thread for a road, a hazy 
smudge for a village or small town. There was 
nothing to show that any part of the area, or any 
of its raised objects, had been knocked about. 

That landscape had an empty and deserted look. 
Of the Germans and Britishers who were burrowed 
there in their tens of thousands, one saw no sign. 
Nor, even in the nearest fields, were any sheep or 
cattle visible. 

Of the war there were only two indications. Faint 
zig-zag markings across some fields were identified 
as trenches. From various quarters came the report 
of cannon, differing in volume according to distance, 
and in some cases preceded by a tiny flash (which 
one saw if one happened to be looking at the right 
spot at the right time). 

But before I had fully grasped leading features 
of the landscape, and realised which was Loos, and 
which Lens, and where was the Hohenzollern Re- 
doubt, the vigilant War Correspondent bade me 
direct my gaze aloft. 

Some half-dozen of our aeroplanes were boldly 
advancing to observe what was happening along the 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 91 

German lines. In their vicinity the glowing sky was 
mottled with exploding shells, no doubt discharged 
in the alternative hope, if not of bringing them down, 
then of driving them up. 

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, eight German ma- 
chines appeared in the heavens. 

The little artificial clouds were sluggishly expand- 
ing into indefined shapelessness, and no new ones 
appeared. Neither Army could shell the hostile 
aircraft, for fear of hitting its own. It remained 
for the airmen to do their own fighting. 

The War Correspondent was delighted; but 
mainly, I think, on my account. 

"You are indeed lucky," he cried. "There's a 
great strafe on. I've seen nothing like this for days. 
The weather has been too cloudy. Now you will 
see something. Our machines are outnumbered. But 
do you think they will care? Not a bit of it. See 
how the Hun planes are trying to rise above ours? 
Hark! Do you hear the machine-guns? They are 
beginning to pepper one another. Take these glasses. 
It's all right — I've got my own. You'll see much 
better." 

Already I had a sense of being, so to speak, in 
the stalls at the theatre of war. And now opera- 
glasses were being pressed upon me. 

To say that we were lolling back at our ease is to 
put the matter too mildly. All three of us were 
lying at full length on our backs, the better to view 
the aerial encounter which was taking place immedi- 
ately above us. 

"Hullo!" and "Did you hear that?" abruptly 
exclaimed the War Correspondent and the Press 



92 SOULS IN KHAKI 

officer; and I turned my head to find them sitting 
up and gazing amazed at one another. 

As the guns kept going off, and were making a 
variety of noises, I knew not what sound had ar- 
rested my companions' attention. 

Then a sort of repressed shriek passed through 
the air in a rapidly rising and falhng crescendo. 

"Another one!" cried the War Correspondent. 

"Yes — and nearer!" cried the Press officer. 

They were now on their feet. 

"What is it?" I asked, startled into a sitting pos- 
ture. 

"Shells!" exclaimed the War Correspondent. 

"They are shelling the fosse," exclaimed the Press 
officer, who had temporarily turned his back on the 
enemy and was gazing across the village from which 
we had recently emerged. "One fell in that field 
over there," he continued, "near those three hay- 
stacks." 

Looking at the place he indicated, I saw a column 
of smoke arising from the ground. 

The other shell, my companions were agreed, had 
probably fallen in the village. 

"We must go down at once," said the Press offi- 
cer, realising his responsibilities. 

Leave our superb point of observation ! When 
the interest was becoming so keen! And just as 
we were about to begin our lunch ! 

"Yes," insisted the Press officer, on noting re- 
luctance, not to say mutiny, depicted on the face 
of his wholly inexperienced ward. For ordinary 
common sense is apt to desert one in a crisis. It 
seemed to me unlikely that any one in that great, 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 93 

wide, distant, empty landscape could have seen such 
minute specks as we must be on that dark-coloured 
fosse; and, supposing the Germans had seen us, it 
seemed incredible that they could succeed in hitting 
the tapering point on which we were perched. 

"Come at once, please. I must insist!" said the 
Press officer, as he led the way down, 

"But is this really necessary?" I asked the War 
Correspondent. "Those shells could hardly have 
been meant for us." 

"Very likely not," he replied thoughtfully. "It's 
difficult to say. But the Hun planes can easily have 
signalled a battery to fire at this fosse. It won't 
do to stay here. You see, if we draw fire, the shells 
meant for us are likely to explode among those 
houses over there." 

Beginning to understand, I seized the lunch-basket, 
and set out in the wake of the Press officer. 

"Stoop!" he shouted from twenty feet below. 

"Yes — bend down," said the War Correspondent, 
"otherwise the Boches may see you against the sky- 
line." 

It did not seem dignified, but I did it; and next 
minute we all three of us were taking long strides 
down the steep Incline. 

Arriving on the gravelly expanse below, we paused 
to regain out breath and enjoy the sensation of be- 
ing once more in safety, when — whizz ! ping! whizz ! 

Some invisible objects were smiting the ground 
all round us. 

"Bullets!" exclaimed the Press officer. 

Ping! whizz ! ping! 



94 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Something harmlessly struck my right shoulder — 
no doubt a tiny up-flying fragment of gravel. 

"Bullets!" exclaimed the War Correspondent. 

"Yes, but what bullets? Where from? Who is 
firing?" I asked in bewilderment. For we had been 
careful to descend the western slope, and the fosse 
was now between us and the Germans. 

"The planes," replied the War Correspondent. 
"It's their machine-guns." 

Of course. In the excitement of finding ourselves 
a target for shells, we had forgotten about the fight 
occurring overhead — at least, I had — and appar- 
ently that fight was now entering a brisk phase. 

"Quick!" cried the Press officer. "There's a good 
place over there." 

"Yes," cried the War Correspondent. "That'll 
make good cover." 

Almost before those words had been spoken, we 
were all careering across the area of open ground. 
But even as I ran I felt what a grievous mistake 
we were making, and that no situation could pos- 
sibly be more hazardous than the one for which we 
were heading. Nor, when all three of us were press- 
ing our backs against one of the great circular metal 
structures, could I forbear from venturing a word 
of criticism. 

"I suppose you know," was my lugubrious com- 
ment, "that we are leaning against a gasometer." 
(I expected that any minute a red-hot bullet from 
above would plunge into the gas and explode it into 
one huge column of flame.) 

"What!" cried the startled War Correspondent, 



FIRST TASTE OF WARFARE 95 

taking several rapid paces forward, "I thought they 
were water tanks!" 

"So they are," laughed the Press officer. 

Peering underneath, I did indeed see dripping 
water. Then nothing remained but for me to apolo- 
gise. 

By this time the pugnacious aeroplanes had moved 
out of sight, and, turning our attention to the lunch- 
eon-basket, we began an enjoyable picnic. 



CHAPTER VII 

AMID STRAY BULLETS 

A cemetery by the sea — Standing amid regiments of crosses — Five 
coffins and some singing birds — Salvationists and the be- 
reaved — Letters of passionate gratitude — Graves under fire — 
Smoking debris and stoical civilians — French village or British 
citadel ? — The old man and his garden — A demolished church — 
The surviving Calvary — An astonished Colonel — The mor- 
tuary — Tommy's dinner — A crimson stain — Musical bullets — 
Hiding from a German airman — Inspecting a military post — 
The youthful O.C. — His damp dug-outs — Pathetic fruit trees — 
A startling British battery — "Playing at soldiers": bright mem- 
ories — Personal sensations. 

In silvery sunlight of early morning, with a blue 
strip of sea glowing beyond the city's grey smoke, 
I have stood with Salvationists In the little cemetery 
up the hill. It is the city previously mentioned — 
the city that has Its principal buildings transformed 
into hospitals for British soldiers. 

Barely a day passes but one or other of those 
hospitals sends a pathetic burden up the hill — mortal 
token that the spirit of still one more brave fellow 
is released to wider opportunities. 

We walked amid the lines of wooden crosses Iden- 
tical In two classes : the brown crosses, which marked 
the graves of officers ; and the more numerous smaller 

96 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 97 

crosses painted white, which marked the graves of 
men. 

Each cross was set in a rectangular oblong space 
edged with dwarf growing box; and dainty flowers 
bloomed in those tiny gardens, which occurred side 
by side, and end to end, in long vistas. 

Reaching the extremity of one row, we found the 
golden loam outthrown from an extensive excava- 
tion some ten feet wide. For in trenches our fallen 
heroes defended European liberty, and in a trench 
their broken bodies were buried. 

Five plain cofBns lay in a row; and without our- 
selves there had been present only a clerg^^man, a 
Presbyterian minister, and the firing party of Tom- 
mies with arms reversed. Nay, but I must not for- 
get the birds. Robins and a wren w^ere chirping 
softly, yet not In sadness. 

Those five caskets of stillness and silence — each 
stGod for us as only an abstraction: as one of those 
brave, unselfish beings who. In the hour of his Em- 
pire's need, heard a higher call than the call of 
personal pleasure, business advancement, and do- 
mestic obligations. Each was only a number and 
a name, with an indication of denominational clas- 
sification in that the Church of England service was 
read over four, while a Presbyterian form of word- 
ing was recited for the fifth. 

But each had been a familiar, well-beloved figure 
In some family circle. Coflined there in all likeli- 
hood were bread-winning husbands and fathers. 
Perhaps another was somebody's sweetheart and 
an only son. And none but strangers and little 
birds were there to see them burled. 



98 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Yet a note of sadness is the less justified because 
an element of comfort here calls for mention. 

I have said with what loving devotion the Salva- 
tionist sisters attend the dying soldier; and after- 
wards they follow a personal inclination in standing 
by the open grave to take a last farewell of their 
friend. Yet even were that act not so prompted, 
it would be performed. For the tidings that they 
were there proves balm to the bereaved, whose hearts 
may well have been numbed by the thought that 
their dear one had passed away, and been laid to 
rest, in the absence of all who cared for him. 

You cannot read with undimmed eyes the letters 
of passionate gratitude that flow in return to the 
Salvation Army. With their eloquence unaffected 
by misspelt words and the unpunctuated sentence, 
they come to the sisters as a wave of encouragement, 
sustaining them in patient and unceasing toil and 
happy humility. 

''Oh, thank you, thank you, dear friend, whom 
God sent to comfort my boy" — in such words run 
scores of these letters — "and please write again 
to tell me where he is buried, and if there is any- 
thing to mark his grave." So, after her long day 
in camp and hospital, the Salvationist sister sits late 
at her desk, answering that and many other letters; 
for any one in trouble has a right to Salvationist 
sympathy and assistance. 

It follows that the appeals and commissions are 
of great variety, ranging from inquiries about miss- 
ing sons to messages for dying husbands. 

And so it came about that, on departing for a sec- 
ond visit to the firing line, I was deputed by Salva- 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 99 

tionist sisters to represent them In visiting, at the 
request of correspondents, graves reported to be 
situated within the zone of fighting. Which fact as- 
sisted other conditions to make my second experi- 
ence of actual warfare a more serious adventure 
than its predecessor. 

From Bethune this time our car proceeded in a 
new direction; and soon we stopped at local mili- 
tary headquarters, that the Press officer might se- 
cure the company of a brother subaltern acquainted 
with the adjoining section of the British front. 

As I waited In the stationary car, the perspective 
of housefronts included, a few hundred feet away, 
the gap where an upper story had been shattered 
either by a shell or a bomb. Lime-dust was still de- 
scending from the smolcing debris, showing how re- 
cent had been the explosion; but, with only a pass- 
ing glance at the wreck, drivers of vehicles continued 
along the road, and pedestrians pursued their way 
on the opposite pavement. 

For to live on the margin of a war is to acquire 
a remarkable degree of stoicism — a truth destined 
in a few minutes to be confirmed with new force. 

After being joined by a dashing young Lieutenant 
full of smiling good spirits, we soon were drawing 
nearer to the boom of cannon and the crackle of 
rifles, the car picking Its way into an inhabited chaos 
of brick rubble and wrecked dwellings, with here 
and there a group of surviving cottages. 

Poor little French village, across whose narrow 
streets the great world war had ebbed and flowed; 
poor little French village that had been captured 
by the Germans and recaptured by the British — a 



100 SOULS IN KHAKI 

noisy destiny, shaped by alien hands, having inter- 
rupted its native peace. 

Troops in khaki, stealthily moving and skilfully 
posted, gave to the place a predominant military 
note — two-thirds British citadel to one-third French 
village. It was matter of amazement that the lat- 
ter element should in any degree have remained. But 
there Is something in the French character — nay, 
there Is something In human nature — which prompts 
a steadfast clinging, despite infinite discouragement 
and menace, to home and the little bit of family prop- 
erty. 

I saw no children, but men and women still dwelt 
in certain of the habitable cottages — men and women 
who moved about quietly with grave looks, as be- 
came those who held their lives by a precarious 
tenure. 

One old man lived there in a world of his own — 
a physical no less than a moral world. Amid that 
shell-torn village he was continuing to look after his 
little garden, and with consummate care and success. 
Over his smooth stretches of loose brown earth 
and his lines of seedling vegetables, I found him 
bending vigilant, rake In hand (for, with our car 
placed In sheltered security, we were now advanc- 
ing on foot). That grey-haired and benign veteran 
probably would not deem It of much account whether 
he lived or died; but it evidently mattered much 
that there should be no decaying leaves, or surface 
pebbles, or upspringing weeds, in his little kitchen 
garden with its neat flower borders. If his peace of 
mind were ever disturbed, or he knew troubled 
dreams at night, the cause would be related, I think, 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 101 

less to shrapnel, bullets, and bombs, than to late 
frosts and the offending snail. 

Good, simple old man, I wonder if you still are 
there or whether you have migrated to a larger para- 
dise. 

A dozen or so paces from that garden and we 
were at the church — a church still standing. 

"The Huns, you see," explained our vivacious 
guide, "have spared this building. The fact is, their 
gunners find its steeple a useful landmark. But 
just to show they weren't deterred by sentiment, they 
put a shell the other day through the choir." And 
soon we saw such huge apertures in wall and window 
as might have been caused by some unruly giant 
armed with a sledge hammer. 

The earth below was plentifully besprinkled with 
fragments of coloured glass, samples of which, at 
the suggestion of our genial guide, I pocketed as 
souvenirs. 

That church happened to be a landmark for me 
as well as for the Germans. 

A Palmers Green lady, in a letter to the Salva- 
tion Army, had entreated them to visit her son's 
grave, the situation of which she was able to indicate 
only in vague, inexact terms. Obviously the lad 
had been buried under fire where he fell, in the 
orchard of what was once a farm; and surviving 
comrades had given his mother the best information 
they could call to mind — on such and such a road, 
north-west of so and so, half a mile from that very 
church. Though he shook his head over these di- 
rections, my new friend promised to help me to try 
and find the grave. 



102 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Passing beyond that sparsely populated village, 
we saw no more civilians, each roadside building 
that came into view being a picture of damage and 
desolation. We walked towards the noise of fight- 
ing (shelling in the slurred base, with a treble stac- 
cato of rifle fire), and presently came to what had 
been the church of an adjoining village. Having 
no occasion for the edifice as a topographical indica- 
tor, the German gunners had reduced it to a dense 
jumbled heap of broken masonry about ten feet 
high; the thoroughness of the church's demolition 
lending emphasis to the survival of Its Calvary, 
which stood Intact, over-topping the stones by some 
six feet or more. Glancing around, one saw that 
the flights of explosive missiles had smashed other 
structures and objects that had stood in the locality; 
all had succumbed to the withering bombardment 
save that slender erection with Its impaled figure of 
beautiful pathos. 

Since we were only a few hundred yards from 
the Germans, no doubt there were many British 
soldiers on that ground. Latterly, however, we had 
seen none but an occasional Tommy or group of 
Tommies, and it happened that, as we stood gazing 
at the church wreckage, no fellow-creature was any- 
where visible — not, at least, until a staff officer ab- 
ruptly appeared from nowhere to demand, in a voice 
of astonishment, and with a face to correspond, who 
we were and what was our business. 

Having glanced at our papers, however, he ac- 
cepted the position with a shrug of the shoulders, 
merely pointing out that we were under fire and must 
be careful. 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 103 

Then the Colonel (for such proved to be his 
rank) recalled my attention to the Calvary, observ- 
ing that its survival was most remarkable, and that 
he had witnessed the identical phenomenon at other 
places along the front. I asked him if he had ever 
seen a fallen Calvary, and he said No; but we agreed 
that such an object would be unlikely to take one's 
attention amid the chaos of a shattered church. 

Continuing our advance towards the German lines, 
we were soon glancing down a country lane at 
some tiled barns of Neuve Chapelle. A little far- 
ther on, our guide led us in a somewhat dubious 
spirit into a side-road, where we presently came upon 
a company of Tommies, crouching in ambush against 
a wall, and they directed us by urgent gesture to re- 
turn, which we lost no time in doing. 

A minute or so later our guide's vigilant eye de- 
tected a solitary cross erected by the roadside on the 
margin of a garden or field. But it proved not to 
mark the grave we sought. 

Thereafter our route lay along a thoroughfare 
shielded by an almost continuous line of cottages 
and farm buildings, which were all a-zig-zag with 
the broken edges of apertures where brickwork and 
roofing had been blown away. Hanging in front 
of one little dwelling was a board bearing the word 
"Mortuary." There, as elsewhere, we saw a few 
inconspicuous khaki figures. 

Farther on, in the shelter of a thick wall, some 
eight or a dozen Tommies were crouching, and 
hard by was a little oil stove burning beneath a steam- 
ing saucepan. 

"Is it good?" I asked the nearest lad as, bend- 



104 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Ing over the pot, I noted a savoury aroma, and saw 
bubbles of golden fat shining on the boiling broth. 

"It's all right," he replied with a complacent 
smile, "when you've got plenty of bread. We 
needn't grumble, for two loaves have just arrived." 

Moving on, I bethought me that we had both 
spoken in subdued voices. With the artillery and 
rifles making such a noise, there could be no sort of 
military reason for whispering. But nearness to 
the enemy prompted a muffling of sounds. Some 
instinct enjoined quiet. 

We must have been walking slowly as well as 
softly, for it was our fortune to be overtaken by a 
wheeled ambulance pushed by a couple of Tommies. 

"Are you having many casualties?" asked the 
Lieutenant. 

"A few," replied one of the Tommies. "We are 
going to fetch a man who has just been shot in Shep- 
herd's Walk." 

As the ambulance went by, I saw a glistening 
wet patch of crimson on the canvas, at the end 
where a man's head would lie. 

Some fifty yards farther on the road ended at a 
broader thoroughfare running to right and left. 
Here a couple of young officers stepped forward to 
bid us stand in the shelter of a near-by house. While 
there we heard the quick, vibrating, and almost mu- 
sical ring of bullets striking the tiles of a building 
across the road. 

But in the action they took, those young officers 
had not been thinking of rifle fire. Amid the noises 
of warfare, I was far from noting the whirr of air- 
craft, but it appeared that a German aeroplane was 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 105 

overhead, and we were likely, if seen, to attract 
shells. 

The flying enemy having been persuaded by burst- 
ing shrapnel to withdraw, we emerged once more 
upon the highroad. Then by the courtesy of those 
same young officers I was privileged to inspect an 
improvised fort or military post. It had originally 
been a small mansion, probably four stories high, 
and certainly of recent construction, with a spacious 
garden planted with fruit trees. The building was 
now two and a half stories high, and but the naked 
skeleton of its former self — floors, ceilings, and 
windows having been shot away, in company with 
about 50 per cent, of the walls. 

We were admitted through a mazy barricade, 
which, an impressive illustration of military art, was 
at once solid and squalid. Crossing the hall on 
two planks, I entered a reception room and the pres- 
ence of the youthful O.C., who, standing on a heap 
of brick rubble, gave me a gracious welcome. 

Nor did he lose any time in conducting me to the 
elaborate system of dug-outs at the back of the 
premises. And certainly, when shells were arriving, 
those dug-outs would be likely to prove acceptable 
asylums. True, some persons might object to crouch- 
ing or lying in two feet or so of water, but, as the 
young Captain playfully remarked, it is not always 
possible to please everybody. 

I noticed that two standard apple trees and one 
standard plum had somehow survived the excava- 
tions, but they were growing after a somewhat fal- 
tering fashion, as though the sap were bewildered 



106 SOULS IN KHAKI 

to find soil touching the blossom and the roots reach- 
ing down into empty air. 

As we peered into those dark, damp dug-outs, the 
young Captain and I grew confidential. 

"It seems only the other day," he remarked, "that 
I was playing at soldiers and digging places like 
these on the seashore. And to think," he smilingly 
added, "that we are doing it in earnest here! That 
is so difficult to realise, until" — and after a com- 
pulsory pause he added, "well, until something 
like that happens !" 

There had occurred a report of such violence that 
the earth trembled beneath us, and it was as though 
the drum of my ear had broken. This was the first 
time I had been near a British gun when it was fired. 

At short intervals the stunning boom was re- 
peated. But a smile never left the face of that sea- 
side boy who had grown a few years older. We 
chatted on. 

I inferred that he was only just at the end of 
his school days when war broke out. For his mem- 
ory seemed to take him straight back to sports as 
though there were no intervening period of business 
to be spanned. If blessed with a young brother, I 
dare say that O.C. had used bucket and spade, in 
summer time by the sea, within the previous five 
years. 

From that Past of frolic and holidays, what an 
abrupt and amazing transition to the Present of 
bloodshed and stress ! But his clear eyes and round- 
ed cheeks suggested a boy whose happiness had 
rested on a sure foundation of goodness; and the 
transition apparently did not affect him with the 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 107 

faintest suspicion of bitterness, or gloom, or muti- 
nous self-pity. 

As we were taking our leave, I noticed the en- 
circling loop-holed barricade which made the posi- 
tion one to be defended on all sides. Thus, should 
the Germans succeed in advancing a few hundred 
yards in that locality, there would be no retreat for 
the garrison. I could picture that seaside O.C. con- 
tinuing to direct and encourage his men, a thought- 
ful smile never long from his lips, until mortally 
wounded he sank to the ground, and with closing 
consciousness beheld the golden seashore lapped by 
little blue waves, sparkling in the splendour of a 
glorious sunrise. 

Continuing along the road, we reduced still far- 
ther the distance between ourselves and the Ger- 
mans. The Lieutenant exercised a vigilant cau- 
tion, and every now and then caused us to stoop 
when passing a gap in the screen of hedges and shat- 
tered walls. At one spot we came upon a cluster 
of silent Tommies lying prone, rifles in hand, against 
a small undulation; our guide seeing in the situa- 
tion an opportunity to point a useful military moral. 

"If," said he, "through carelessness or bravado, 
we let our heads be seen above that bank, the Ger- 
mans would be likely to put over a few shells. That 
might not matter to us, as we should probably have 
walked away in the meantime, but it would be seri- 
ous for these men, who are compelled to remain 
here." 

Presently, reaching the limit of sheltered ground, 
we set about retracing our steps; the return journey 
being attended by only two circumstances that call 



108 SOULS IN KHAKI 

for mention. We examined several wayside crosses 
without meeting with the name we sought; and in 
this instance (as in one other) failure attended my 
efforts to visit a grave on behalf of the Salvation 
Army. 

As we were passing the cottage labelled ''Mortu- 
ary," it chanced that bullets rang out sharply on 
striking the roof, and at once the several attendant 
lads, adopting a precaution officially prescribed, 
stood rigid with their baclcs, palms, and heels pressed 
against the building. 

Then we returned past the standing Calvary, the 
old man's Immaculate garden, and the shattered 
church, to the point where we had to drop our genial 
pilot; and a few minutes later the car had carried 
us out of shell-range and into security and — dullness ! 

With nervc*^. relaxed, I found myself at the end 
of a pleasurable experience. 

In describing our mild adventures at the fosse, 
I purposely refrained from a definite statement of 
personal sensations. The fact is, I found the occa- 
sion more exhilarating and congenial than I remem- 
bered ever before to have found a picnic. Indeed, 
the state of my feelings seemed little short of scan- 
dalous, having regard to the interests I represented 
and the wholesale tragedy at which we were peer- 
ing; and at one point I drew the War Correspondent 
aside, to apologise for enjoying myself, and to ex- 
press a hope that he would not attribute to callous- 
ness what was, apparently, merely the effect of nov- 
elty. 

As a matter of fact, I found myself on that occa- 
sion in some uncertainty as to the correct Interpreta- 



AMID STRAY BULLETS 109 

tion to be placed on my state of mind. I certainly 
had had no experience of "feeling afraid," but this 
might be due to one or both of two causes: (i) the 
trivial and transitory element of danger that at- 
tended our adventure; (2) the fact that the danger 
took me so completely by surprise. 

But in the second experience those elements of 
uncertainty were not repeated, and, so far from 
feeling any unpleasant timidity, I had the happiness 
to be exhilarated. I could definitely trace a sus- 
tained thrill to a realisation of the risk we were 
running. The ping-ping of the bullets lent a new 
spice to existence. 

Clearly the man who puts himself in the witness- 
box — who runs a tape-measure, so to speak, over 
his moral consciousness — is liable to gather unex- 
pected, and perhaps not very dignified, evidence. 



CHAPTER VIII 

jimmy's opportunity 

A costermonger and his comrades — "A button short" — ^EflFect of a 
first shell — In bombarded trenches — An impromptu religious 
service — "God bless you, Jimmy!" — Prayer and its fruits — 
"Mumming" a hymn — Men hungry, but not for meat — Resumed 
devotions — "Like being in Heaven" — The absentee — An unoffi- 
cial chaplain — In the rest camp — A revival of bad language- 
Jimmy's venture — A remarkable gathering — Thirty converts — 
Nightly meetings of growing influence — An officer's testimony — 
Jimmy injured by liquid fire — His new appointment — Fish and 
chips. 

The Ypres salient provided me with remarkable 
evidence of war's effect on the human soul; this 
evidence being of two kinds: that which came un- 
der my own observation, and that which I derived 
from the experience of an Oxford costermonger 
named James J. Dingle. 

Before being invalided into a sedentary occupa- 
tion, Private Jimmy saw active service at the Front; 
and he gave me full details. 

It seems that he and his comrades (Oxford and 
Bucks Light Infantry), with little previous experi- 
ence of bullets and shelling, went straight into 
trenches that were being somewhat briskly bom- 
barded. Up to which time the general attitude to- 
wards Jimmy was (outwardly, at any rate) one of 

no 



JIMMY'S OPPORTUNITY 111 

good-humoured toleration — an attitude dating from 
the time when some forty of them first met as joint 
occupants of a hut. 

He told me about that evening. 

" 'I'm going to pray,' I says. 'Do you mind?' 
I says. 'I'm going to pray for the lot,' I says. 
They just laughed and jeered a bit, but they kept 
quiet. When I got up from my knees, one says, 
'He's got a button short, pore feller'; and another 
says, 'All the Salvationists are balmy.' I says, 'Yes, 
men, I began it eight years ago, and I wish I'd been 
balmy long before that.' " 

To be strictly accurate, the general attitude to- 
wards Jimmy began to change when they were a 
mile and a half from the trenches. Then it was they 
saw their first shell explode, and some one said, 
"Pass the word down to Jimmy to start up his old 
favourite, 'When the Roll is called up yonder.' " 
He sang three verses, and the men joined in the 
chorus. Then they were called to attention, and 
ordered to keep silent for the rest of the journey. 

Morning had hardly broken when they got into 
trenches near Ypres and lined up against the para- 
pet. 

"The shells," said Jimmy, "were coming over 
dreadful. A man by the name of Sam said, 'Wot 
does Jimmy think of it?' I said, 'I think our time 
is come. We'd better pray.' And we did. I start- 
ed. 'O Lord,' I says, 'we feel that our time is 
come. Prepare each one of us for what Thou see fit 
to call us to. Bless and strengthen every man in 
these 'ere trenches. If our time is come, may we 
all feel and believe that it is well with our souls.' I 



112 SOULS IN KHAKI 

says : 'I'm praying for you all. Pray for yourselves !' 
The tears were running down their cheeks. They 
said, 'God bless you, Jimmy!' I says: 'And God 
bless you, my friends!' Then I says, 'O Lord, help 
us. Make us die easy if our time is come.' That did 
me good. I 'ad felt a bit shaky, but after that I didn't 
mind if my time was come. I could see God was 
working through them. They said, 'Jimmy, you 
mean business; we can see what it stands for to be a 
Christian. It makes us not afraid of death,' " 

He gave other details of that critical first spell 
under fire. It seems that Sam was on his right — 
Sam, whose bad language had been conspicuous in 
a crowd where blasphemy was the rule. A man 
named Ted was on his left. At first Jimmy spoke 
merely to his immediate neighbours, but soon he 
communicated with the general body of men by the 
means they had adopted in communicating with him. 
Before praying the second time, he said, "Pass the 
word down that we are going to pray" ; and on both 
sides of him the word was passed down, until the 
whole line were on their knees. The trench being 
dry, and it being easy to rest one's rifle against the 
parapet, there was no difiiculty about kneeling. 

"We prayed," said Jimmy, "for about a quarter 
of an hour." 

"Rather a long time," I pointed out. 

"Yes," said Jimmy, "but the shells were still com- 
ing over cruel." 

After they rose from their knees, Sam said, "Good 
old Jimmy, that's done me a lot of good. I never 
prayed before, but I've prayed now." 

"As for me," Jimmy testified, "I found myself 



JIMjMY'S opportunity 113 

coming a lot more cheerful. After we had prayed, 
I was filled with joy, and was more stronger to 
stand the dangers — more myself. I started to sing 
'Abide with Me,' and I heard one or two at it on 
both sides of me. They didn't know the words, but 
they just mummed it. After that we had other 
hymns the same way, until seven o'clock came, when 
we got the order to stand down and sit about the 
trench cooking our food." 

Nobody, however, wanted any food. Jimmy and 
his friends merely wanted something with which to 
moisten their parched throats. Most of the men 
had already used up the pint of water with which 
they started from camp. But bodily needs occupied 
a subordinate place in their minds. They crowded 
round the Oxford costermonger, and encouraged 
him to dilate on his favourite theme. 

"Then I felt," said Jimmy, "that I needed God's 
guidance more than ever. They liked to hear me 
tell 'em about Jesus, and they said they could see 
there must be something in religion after all. I says 
to myself. 'Jimmy,' I says, 'this is your golden op- 
portunity.' What if I 'adn't been converted? 
What would 'ave become of me — and them? 'What 
a blessing,' I says to myself, 'I'm a Salvationist and 
got a clean 'eart.' And every time I said anything, 
they said, 'Go on, Jimmy — God bless you!' There 
was no more swearing. The men were very quiet; 
they seemed different altogether. I started once 
more to sing 'Abide with me,' and two or three 
men said they wanted to live good." 

During the day a water supply was found, and 
the men went thither to replenish their supplies. 



114 SOULS IN KHAKI 

Jimmy is sure that no man slept or did any cooking. 
The shrapnel was still bursting, and occasionally 
a wounded man was borne along the trench. Jimmy 
was always the centre of a cluster of men listening 
gratefully to what he had to say. 

After dark they once more stood along the trench, 
each man under orders periodically to stand erect, 
aim, fire, and then duck down again. But the edge 
of that new peril was blunted through a happy in- 
spiration that came to Jimmy. Following his ex- 
ample, and at his suggestion, they began their spell 
of fighting with a few minutes of kneeling at prayer; 
as was destined to become their regular custom when 
going on duty. 

And after those two hours "on," they again had 
five hours "off"; which continued to be their pro- 
gramme while in the trenches. I asked Jimmy if 
by the second day he had found his appetite or 
wanted a nap, 

"Oh, no," he explained, "the shells were still com- 
ing over something awful. But you wouldn't be- 
lieve how different the men were. You should have 
seen the smiles on their faces — nothing but smiling 
and smiling. It was just like being in Heaven. 
The devil was missing that time. I felt he had left 
us altogether." 

I asked Jimmy, who has a fine memory, to repeat 
some of the things he said to his comrades during 
those first days under fire. 

"I told 'em," replied Jimmy, "what Christ had 
done for me, and I said He'd do the same for them. 
We haven't got to go to church to get Christ," I 
says; "we can have Him here. God is waiting with 



JIMMY'S OPPORTUNITY 115 

outstretched arms," I says, "to receive each one of 
us. I really felt God had made me the chaplain." 

So it went on for five days. 

"And just fancy," said Jimmy with shining eyes, 
"no sign of the devil for five days!" 

Then Jimmy and his friends, being relieved by 
other troops, retired to spend seven days in a rest 
camp behind the lines. 

On the march, the unofficial chaplain received a 
shock. He heard some swearing. The devil had 
come back. 

When evening arrived, Jimmy and his friends 
felt much refreshed physically by the food and sleep 
they had enjoyed during the afternoon. But Jimmy 
had heard more swearing, and his heart was heavy. 
A few short hours before, and there had seemed no 
limit to the glorious results vouchsafed to his ef- 
forts. Now those results seemed to fade, and he 
was left with a mocking sense of failure. 

And here we may note that his Salvationist activi- 
ties In Oxford, his native city, had been limited. In 
frequent request were his services as a vocalist, but, 
beyond being occasionally called upon for a personal 
testimony, he was not asked to speak. Since join- 
ing the British Army, he had, it is true, been con- 
stantly pleading with his comrades, though largely 
in an informal and conversational way. 

During that first evening in the rest camp, he met 
a Corporal who, as an earnest member of the Church 
of England, had on previous occasions proved a sym- 
pathetic companion. "Do you think," asked down- 
hearted Jimmy, "if I was to start a meeting, I'd get 
any round me?" The Corporal was afraid not. 



116 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Well, I'll think I'll chance it," said Jimmy; and, 
taking off his khaki tunic, he stood conspicuous in 
his Salvation jersey. 

"Hello! There's Jimmy at it again," cried out 
a laughing lad as he walked by. It was not very 
encouraging, but Jimmy held to his purpose. 

"I started off," he told me, "with 

" 'Hark ! the Gospel news is sounding, 
Christ has suffered on the tree; 
Streams of mercy are abounding, 
Grace for all is rich and free.' 

" 'And all,' I says, 'means all of you.' Well, 
after a bit, one or two came round. But I went on 
talking with my head down, and when I come to 
look up, what do you think? Why, there I was in 
the middle of a great big ring, with five or six hun- 
dred crowding round! It give me such a happy 
feeling — my golden opportunity come true again. 
I set 'em singing, and they sang wonderful hearty! 
Then I thought how nice for them to hear some- 
thing out of the Bible, so I took mine out and opened 
it. But I'm a very bad scholar, so I said to the 
Church of England Corporal, who was standing 
near, 'Brother,' I says, 'will you help me by reading 
the Word of God?' He said, 'I'll be only too 
pleased,' and he read out of Matthew. Then, after 
another hymn, I said, 'Look here, we're out at 
the war, and we don't know when we are going back, 
so let us make the best of it. I'm here,' I says, 'to 
try and cheer you by God's help. • Now I want you 
to sing as hearty as you can.' You just ought to have 
heard 'em I" exclaimed the enthusiastic costermonger. 



JIMMY'S OPPORTUNITY 117 

"A Sergeant stepped into the ring," he continued, 
"and said, 'Will you have mother's favourite hymn, 
"Lead, kindly light"?' Oh, if you could only have 
heard them singing it! After that, I give my testi- 
mony. I told 'em that first of all I'd got God to 
thank; but the Salvation Army came next. It was a 
wonderful meeting, and it kept on getting more won- 
derful. For after a bit there was a lot of them 
kneeling on the ground ; but only thirty really decided 
and got properly converted." 

"Only thirty!" I interjected. 

"Ah, but wait," replied Jimmy, his face radiant 
and his eyes brimming over, "that was only the be- 
ginning. We had more wonderful times still during 
the next seven days. At every meeting there was 
a bigger lot converted, and, in all, hundreds got the 
blessing." 

But I wanted more details. 

"Those first thirty?" echoed Jimmy. "Well, 
them and me had a nice long talk after the meeting 
was over. I believe they was all of 'em backsliders, 
or pretty near all of 'em, and some had been Salva- 
tionists — one from Regent Hall, one from Canada, 
and I forget where the others come from. I told 
'em I'd pray for them, 'but,' I says, 'you must pray 
for yourselves.' And I told 'em that if they wanted 
to please their mother or father or wife they'd bet- 
ter write home and say they'd been to the Saviour, 
and intended to trust Him in this time of trouble. 
'And if you do trust Him,' I said, 'He'll not only 
bless you, but keep your wife and all your other 
dear ones. Write and say, "I've come back to the 
Lord." ' And later in the evening one told me he'd 



118 SOULS IN KHAKI 

written home and he'd got those words in the letter. 
I said, Tray Bong!'" 

"And when did you have your second meeting?" 

"Next night," replied Jimmy; "and I got a lot 
of help from the converts that came forward at the 
first meeting, specially the backsliders from the 
Army. They went among the men fishing for souls, 
and we had over seventy come forward at that 
meeting. And so it went on growing every day — 
more helpers and more converts. You can't have 
no idea what wonderful meetings they were." 

But from independent quarters I had heard about 
the boundless enthusiasm, and far-reaching spiritual 
power, manifested at those gatherings. 

Indeed, of the numerous eminent divines whom 
Oxford has given to the world, how many, I wonder, 
have influenced more conversions in a fortnight than 
were influenced by one who, trundling a wheelbar- 
row, goes through the streets of Oxford selling ba- 
nanas at two a penny and fine ripe strawberries. 

"At one meeting," continued Jimmy, "an officer 
of our A company gave a wonderful testimony. He 
said he had tried both plans, and the only way to 
get peace and happiness was by serving God. At 
another meeting I saw our dear friend the chap- 
lain in the crowd, and I asked him to come in the 
ring and give us a word. He said they ought to be 
proud of a man like me, and he turned round to 
me and he said, 'God bless you, and God bless the 
Salvation Army!' Afterwards he said to me, 'We 
as church people haven't come up to the standard 
we ought to have done.' He said, 'I couldn't have 
struck out like you have done. I wish I could get 



JIMMY'S OPPORTUNITY 119 

the same spirit.' He was the Rev. Mr. Jones, Con- 
gregationalist, and he gave me a nice Bible." 

On returning to the trenches, Jimmy saw coloured 
flames advancing towards him, and his next experi- 
ence was to wake up in a hospital. 

It was a disappointment to be pronounced medi- 
cally unfit for further service in the firing line; but 
Jimmy recovered his musical tendencies on learning 
of the sphere to which the authorities proposed to 
appoint him. 

At various parts of the war zone in France, the 
Salvation Army had, as the reader is aware, erected 
huge huts in which Tommy took meals, wrote let- 
ters, listened to music, and found friends anxious 

to help him in all possible ways. At E , one 

of the British bases, a hut of this character had 
been so greatly appreciated that the local military 
command, noting that the small staff of Salvationists 
were condemned by their success to unceasing la- 
bours, decided, as some recognition of the valuable 
service they were rendering the British Army, to 
allot them an orderly from its ranks. And it is 
certainly an eloquent testimony to official care In 
making appointments that Private James J. Dingle 
was appointed to the post. 

So it came about that, at the time of my meeting 
with Jimmy, he was daily putting in eighteen hours 
of joyful service in the hut, where he had won an 
incidental reputation for the excellence of the fish 
and chips he supplied to an unending stream of 
customers in khaki. 



CHAPTER IX 

HOLINESS AND HEROISM 

Attached to a battalion — The considerate Adjutant — My servant — 
Taking meals with the subalterns — A mess joke — Story of an 
irate Major — Joseph's testimony — A Ramsgate Salvationist — 
My tent — Reading in bed — The salient at night — Memories of 
Tiberias — My unsuccessful petition — Transferred to another 
regiment — A friendly Quartermaster — Listening to the pipes — 
The Gay Gordons and their dead — Buttered toast from the 
Quartermaster-sergeant — The spiritual experiences of Sergeant 
Withers — Living by faith under fire — Obstructed moonlight; 
an answer to prayer — The faithful Sergeant's splendid 
bravery. 

So far my visits to the Front had been in the nature 
of day excursions, and I had returned to sleeping 
quarters beyond the range of German artillery. 

But the time came, when, on taking leave of the 
Press officer one afternoon, I found myself attached 
to a battalion in a camp behind the Ypres salient. 
This proved an instructive experience. 

The Adjutant — a young Scotsman whose many 
responsibilities failed to cloud his sunny disposition 
— allotted a tent for my exclusive use, appointed 
a lad from the ranks to serve me as orderly or ser- 
vant, and laid him under imperative obligations 
(which my intervention was powerless to modify) 
in the matter of providing me with a camp bed, three 
warm blankets, an oil-heating stove, a pail of water 

120 



HOLINESS AND HEROISM 121 

to wash in, and such other civilised amenities as 
might be within the reach of an army in the field. 

I took my meals with the subalterns — lion-hearted 
lads overflowing with chaff and innocent humour: 
three of whom, when war broke out, were at the 
University, one being in training for a missionary 
career in China; while the president of the mess, a 
comparatively grave senior, aged twenty-two, had 
enjoyed a little business experience with a famous 
Canadian firm. 

Several times in my presence orders arrived for 
one or other to go in command of a party of military 
navvies, and fill shell-holes on roads within the 
salient; it being revealed as the stock mess joke on 
such occasions that the chosen comrade should be 
asked, in a tone of mock solicitude, what flowers he 
would wish at his burial. It was not a very nice 
joke, it was not even a funny joke, but it will serve 
to illustrate the mood in which those youngsters con- 
fronted peril. 

Perhaps I may be permitted to give the reader 
another taste of the happy spirits prevailing in 
that little wooden hut, where a sufficiency of simple, 
well-cooked food was served in enamelled ware on 
oil baize. 

"I say L ," exclaimed one of our number just 

returned from a nocturnal excursion of the kind 

mentioned, "were you down at Gate last 

Wednesday night?" 

"Yes," replied the divinity student, who happened 
at the moment to be showing me his boxful of vari- 
ous detonators, which he obviously collected with a 
fervour usually associated with philately. 



122 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"And did you fill up a hole near Mokey's Bower?" 

"Let me see," ruminated L . "Yes — a whop- 
per. Why?" 

"Fill it in nicely, did you?" continued the in- 
quirer, struggling with pent-up emotion. 

"Rather! At first I thought we were in for an 
all-night sitting. Usually the stuff takes a lot of 
looking for round about there. But I had the luck 
to find a ripping heap not twenty yards from the 
hole — there must have been five tons of it. We had 
to use the lot, but I was proud of the job when it 
was finished." 

"Well, a gunnery Major there is very anxious to 
meet you," exclaimed the other, unable any longer 
to repress his mirth. "Talk about hot air — I was 
glad to escape with a whole skin. He wants to know 
the name of the jackass who carted away the screen 
of his battery. It seems they were the best part 
of a week collecting that stuff. He says it was a 
vital part of the mask for his guns, and he was evi- 
dently awfully proud of it — had carefully built it 
up to look like an ordinary wayside heap of build- 
ing material." 

"Yes, but," protested L , "that is just what I 

thought it was! He shouldn't be so jolly realistic." 

However, little beyond a superficial friendship is 
possible with men met only in a group at meals; 
and it happened that those bright young officers 
yielded me less instruction and inspiration than did 
Joseph Turner, the lad who acted as my orderly. 

Knowing him to have been chosen at random to 
serve me, I looked forward with special interest 
to the confidential talk our relations would enable 



HOLINESS AND HEROISM 123 

me to have with him. And certainly if he could be 
accepted as a typical Tommy, the spiritual state of 
the British Army was something to rejoice over. 
For at a first word about vital matters, his eyes 
brightened, his tongue was loosened, and he told 
me that, when under fire, he always put himself in 
God's keeping and awaited the issue without fear. 

Not that Joseph's interests were limited to the 
material world in years preceding the war. He had 
been a punctual attendant at a Bible-class in his na- 
tive town of Newark, where he was also an occa- 
sional visitor to the Salvation Army corps. 

And to Joseph I owed the pleasure of meeting 
some Salvationist comrades of his, including a Rams- 
gate furniture-dealer, who mentioned that he had 
learnt to live by faith at home (notably when rais- 
ing money for his corps), and that during heavy 
fighting at Loos and elsewhere he had remained 
placid and cool, always with the words running in 
his mind, 

"So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still 
Will lead me on." 

"If I hadn't been a Salvationist," he said, "you 
wouldn't have seen me in the British Army. In 
the old days I hadn't enough sense of duty, for one 
thing, or the grace to make the sacrifice, for an- 
other." 

These conversations happened on my first night 
under canvas — an occasion of pleasant and impres- 
sive sensations. 

After camp fires and sounds had one by one died 



lU SOULS IN KHAKI 

down, I lay for an hour or so luxuriously reading 
in bed. For, at the Front, it seemed, there were 
no onerous lighting regulations, with stern special 
constables to see to their enforcement. Thus, with 
official permission, I had two candles by my bed- 
side, while the flap of the tent hung open in the 
interests of ventilation. 

Nor, having laid aside my book shortly after mid- 
night, could I forbear from emerging through that 
flap to take stock of my surroundings. 

In the encircling stillness only near tents were 
visible, and that dimly. But it was the northern 
horizon that claimed attention, and this by reason 
of the shimmering lights that appeared and faded 
here and there, and of the occasional rise and fall 
of brilliant stars. One gazed from right and left 
round a semicircle of illumination, which pulsated 
in unison with the rumble and boom of firing. But 
what most impressed the imagination was a fact 
not seen or heard. 

We were behind the Ypres salient — that crucial 
spot in Europe where the British Empire had been 
so vigorously menaced and so valiantly safeguarded; 
that little bit of Belgian geography where a lot of 
English history was occurring. But the process was 
taking place, at any rate within the range of my con- 
sciousness, under most soothing and restful condi- 
tions. 

Not since sojourning on the pebble shore of Gali- 
lee, when the smell of quiet waters was borne on 
the night air into my tent, had it been my lot to sleep 
under canvas. Thus memory enriched with tran- 
quilising sensations a physical experience in itself 



HOLINESS AND HEROISM 125 

acceptable and pleasant; and I floated into dream- 
land with Tiberias of golden memories linked with 
modern Ypres in one thought — a thought still per- 
meating my being when morning brought smiling 
Joseph to announce that my shaving water was in 
the milk tin, and that a Taube was flying overhead, 
and that breakfast would be ready in twenty min- 
utes. 

To be living thus under picturesque conditions, 
and amid strong human interests, would, one might 
think, have satisfied anybody; but soon I was ask- 
ing permission (of both the subalterns and their 
superiors) to go and have a peep at Ypres. For 
to be so near that famous place without visiting it 
proved very tantalising. 

My appeals were in vain, but they elicited the 
curious fact that those officers had not themselves, 
for the most part, been inside the city, which they 
said was under continuous shell fire — a fact render- 
ing It impossible, in their judgment, for a civilian to 
go there. They also said I might as well ask them 
to take me into the trenches — a remark that served 
to cloud my hopes. But only temporarily. For 
on the following afternoon word arrived that I was 
to report myself to the Colonel of another battalion, 
who would arrange, It was stated, for me to visit 
the trenches. Whereupon, taking leave of Joseph 
and my other friends, I set off, under a suitable es- 
cort, to perform the journey rendered necessary by 
this intimation. 

And soon my new O.C., with raised eyebrows, 
was expressing himself doubtful If I should have a 
very rosy time in the trenches. It seemed they had 



126 SOULS IN KHAKI 

not yet been properly restored after seven and a half 
recent hours of shell fire. 

However, my papers were explicit, and so he 
handed me over to the hospitable resources of the 
Quartermaster — a fine figure of a man, gracious and 
soldierly, with whom I was soon traversing duck 
boards. Yet suddenly, by common consent, we stood 
stock still — listening. 

Near by, where little white tents twinkled among 
the trees, the pipes had struck up. It was masterly 
playing, full of sadness, rhythm, and determination. 

Presently the rigid Quartermaster was murmuring 
explanations : 

*'The Gay Gordons, you know. They were with 
us last week. Another search party is going out 
to-night. So there'll be more funerals in the morn- 
ing. The pipes are getting ready — playing the la- 
ment, don't they call it? You like the pipes?" 

But who could fall to like them under such con- 
ditions? 

Daylight had already waned sufficiently to lend 
emphasis to the few camp fires — braziers tempo- 
rarily blazing. A splutter of laughter and splashing 
arose from a row of Tommies who, stripped to the 
waist, were enjoying an al fresco toilet. From sur- 
rounding huts and tents came a hum of mirth, con- 
versation, and song; and out of the medley I heard 
one voice, in a spasm of innocent exuberation, ab- 
ruptly carol forth: 



"Oh my! 

I don't want to die; — 

I want to go 'ome to my murrer." 



HOLINESS AND HEROISM 127 

Another element in that background of sound was 
the muffled growling of artillery. 

Reaching the Quartermaster's store — which 
proved to be a conglomeration of military requisites, 
ranging from dynamite to dominoes — Quartermas- 
ter A. A. Rowe introduced me to Quartermaster- 
sergeant J. Powell, who, after seeing the visitor com- 
fortably seated on an upturned box, went in quest 
of tea, buttered toast, and Sergeant Withers. Not 
that I had asked for anything or anybody. But on 
official introduction my regiment was indicated as 
the Salvation Army, and there was a keen look on 
the radiant face of Quartermaster-sergeant Powell. 

Asquat a case of hand-grenades. Sergeant T. D. 
Withers, of Fleetwood, was soon telling me how, 
as a self-righteous lad who actually taught in a 
Sunday-school, he experienced the transforming reve- 
lation of his own unworthiness, and had since lived 
by faith in humble dependence on imparted guid- 
ance. When he lapsed into reliance on his own judg-- 
ment (as in courting a first sweetheart), things went 
wrong; when he asked direction (as in choosing his 
beloved wife), happiness resulted. 

For Sergeant Withers spoke with a beautiful can- 
dour, and in a gentle voice, his mind full of trust 
and happiness, like a little child's. 

"And," I put the superfluous question, "you live 
under fire by faith?" 

He smiled and answered: 

"What other way is possible? Shall I give you 
one instance — one among so many? The commu- 
nication trenches were battered in, and we had to 
go across a bit of top ground that the Germans 



128 SOULS IN KHAKI 

could see, which made it impossible to get into the 
front lines, or come out of them, by daylight. Well, 
one night, when our company was going in, the moon 
lit up the whole place so brightly that we were cer- 
tain to be spotted. For a few minutes I thought, 
'So this is the end for some of us' ; then I remem- 
bered and prayed. I did not see how it could be 
done, but I prayed, 'O Lord, the bright moonlight; 
get rid of the bright moonlight, dear Lord.' And 
just as we entered the dangerous part, a cloud, which 
I hadn't seen before, went right in front of the moon, 
and we walked across the ground in darkness and 
safety. Then, as soon as the last man was in the 
trenches, out came the moon again as bright as ever." 

As he told me of this, his voice sank to a quaver- 
ing whisper, and his eyes were moist — facts which 
were to acquire a new significance in the retrospect, 
two minutes later. 

The Sergeant had modestly withdrawn upon the 
return of Quartermaster Rowe — that splendid sol- 
dier, the claret ribbon on his breast (though I did 
not know this at the time) celebrated thirty-three 
years of military service. And these were the first 
words uttered by the Quartermaster when we were 
alone: 

*'Been having a chat, I see, with Sergeant With- 
ers. Well, I wonder if you knew you were talking 
to one of the bravest men in the British Army? 
In the affair last week he was simply wonderful — 
here, there, and everywhere, rescuing the wounded, 
carrying ammunition, helping everybody; and amid 
that hurricane of shell fire, which went on for seven 
hours and a half, mind — and it was then we had our 



HOLINESS AND HEROISM 129 

heaviest losses — all the time he was as busy in as- 
sisting others, and as forgetful of himself, as a man 
could be. I tell you, some of us have put in a strong 
recommendation that Sergeant Withers' services on 
that occasion should be officially recognised." 

"That affair last week — what was it?" I asked. 

"We recaptured the International trench, and took 
other trenches just beyond — on the Bluff, you know. 
Not a very big operation, no doubt," he modestly 
added, "and perhaps it didn't impress you very 
much." 

But, indeed, as the reader will not need to be 
told, it impressed me deeply. For had I not met 
wounded heroes of that fight on their arrival by 
train at the base? And had I not afterwards be- 
come personally acquainted with many of those he- 
roes as they lay in the Casino hospital? 

It was appropriate and congenial that the battle 
experiences now to be disclosed should be those in 
which my friends had been involved. 



CHAPTER X 

THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 

The Quartermaster's story — Seven hours of din and slaughter — 
Mothering the prisoners — A Lieutenant's experiences: held, 
wounded, crippled, threatened and cheerful — Concerning 
death: fallacies confuted by experience — Mrs. Booth and the 
Empress mourners — The best-liked man of the regiment — A 
JVar Cry monopoly — Droll adventure of the Mascot — A gun- 
ner's eloquent silence — The Teetotal Division — No use for rum 
rations — The Quartermaster and the Salvation Army: an un- 
expected tribute — "My little red jersey." 

Concerning the "Internationar* affair, Quarter- 
master Rowe proved a graphic, if reluctant, witness. 
"Ah," he said, "it isn't for us — we're the 8th 
King's Own Royal Lancasters, you know — to say 
much about it, because, well" (his manner revealing 
interesting cross-currents of attempted reticence and 
involuntary pride) , "we were given the place of hon- 
our — I mean, the middle, which had to begin the at- 
tack — with the ist Gordons on one side, and the 2nd 
Suffolks on the other, to follow on. Well, sir, it was 
all over very soon — the actual fighting, I mean — and 
we had captured the trenches and taken our pris- 
oners, when the continuous shelling began; the bar- 
rage, or curtain fire, as it is called, which we put 
over on the Germans to bar reinforcements, and 
which they put over on us to keep off our supplies 



THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 131 

and hem us in. The shells that fell short and burst 
in our lines did heavy execution, especially among 
the wounded and those who were looking after them. 
And, as I say, that din and slaughter went on," he 
added pensively, "for seven and a half hours." 

"Why did it leave off then?" I asked. 

"Why?" echoed the Quartermaster. "Why? 
Well, because human endurance always reaches an 
end at last; and all the gunners engaged must have 
been ready to drop, their strength entirely spent. 
As for our lads, by that time some of them were 
pretty far gone, too, what with one thing or an- 
other, including thirst and the want of food." 

"But they had their iron rations?" 

"Yes," exclaimed the Quartermaster, "they had 
their iron rations, and they had the tea in their 
flasks; but, would you believe it?" — and he lifted 
his hands, genially aghast — "they gave nearly all 
that food and drink to the prisoners I I've had a 
little experience of soldiers — this is not my first 
campaign, sir — but, I tell you, the lads are a mar- 
vel. In the actual scrap our side showed plenty of 
dash, to say the least, and certainly no victory could 
have been more complete; but, the fighting over, 
there they were fussing over their prisoners (of 
whom we took more than 300) like a lot of moth- 
ers. It was, 'Cheer up, old chap!' and 'Buck up, 
we won't hurt you!' and 'Don't worry, old fellow; 
your wounds will be seen to.' I heard them myself, 
for the shelling hadn't started then; and they were 
patting them on the back, and making rough-and- 
ready bandages for them to be going on with, and 
giving them tea and bully-beef and biscuits. In 



132 SOULS IN KHAKI 

fact," added the Quartermaster, as he tried hard 
to look displeased, but entirely failed to hide his 
gratification — "In fact, I sometimes think our lads 
aren't jit to go to war; for when it comes to the hat- 
ing-your-enemy part, they are no good at all." 

"Did the mothering stop when the shelling be- 
gan?" 

"Stop!" he cried, "not a bit of it. There were 
a lot of casualties among men who, instead of taking 
cover, remained in the open to feed the prisoners, 
and help them along, and look after them generally. 
They couldn't do enough for the Germans all of 
a sudden — the very same Germans, mind you, who 
for days and weeks and months had been sniping and 
bombing and shelling them and their pals!" 

"You say you had heavy losses?" 

"Yes, indeed," replied the Quartermaster; and 
for a while he was silent, his gaze directed out of 
the little window, which commanded a view of the 
tents and trees and a browsing goat. When he 
spoke again, the exultation had for the moment died 
out of his manner. 

"We went in," he said, 967 strong, and we had 
320 casualties, including about 90 dead. But fig- 
ures don't tell you much. It's when you're used to 
sitting down ten in your mess, and suddenly you find 
the orderly has only had to lay for six — that's when 
it comes home to you. And then to think that you 
will never again see So-and-So, though the sound of 
his bright laughing voice is still ringing in your ears; 
or that other one, who was so sympathetic and use- 
ful and your special friend. Ah, yes, we lost a lot 



THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 133 

of fine fellows, including some splendid young offi- 
cers. But how gamely they fought and died!" 

Once more the Quartermaster's face was aglow, 
his voice vibrant with an impersonal pride. 

"We had a Lieutenant named Bowden," he said, 
"and his case will serve to show you what I mean. 
Such a pleasant, light-hearted, and capable young 
fellow he was, absolutely unselfish and as brave as 
the bravest. Well, in the opening charge he had the 
bad luck to get impaled on barbed wire. There he 
stuck helpless, an easy target for the enemy. In 
quick succession he received two severe lung wounds, 
after which a bullet shattered his left shoulder. 
Then he saw a German advancing with fixed bayonet 
.to run him through the body. It was a terrible po- 
sition — held, wounded, threatened and crippled; but 
Lieutenant Bowden kept his head. Stealthily draw- 
ing his revolver and carefully choosing his mo- 
ment, he fired point-blank at the German and brought 
him down. Next minute a bullet struck Bowden's 
right shoulder; 'and then,' he afterwards said with a 
bright smile, 'I thought I had done my bit, so I 
curled over.' " 

"He survived, then?" 

"Yes, long enough to have his wounds attended 
to at the dressing station. Then, as he lay on a 
stretcher awaiting removal, a bursting shell wiped 
him and the stretcher out of existence." 

And note that a moment later the Quartermaster 
and I were talking lightly about something else. 

For to visit the Front is to find yourself at close 
quarters with supreme truths, which, accordingly, 
are seen with a new distinctness. During peace and 



134 SOULS IN KHAKI 

prosperity (the soil in which Agnosticism flour- 
ishes) we are apt to look upon the inevitable mortal 
culmination of death as a dire catastrophe, though 
happily a catastrophe so rare and remote that one 
need not think about it — a string of fallacies which 
are blown to pieces at the Front. Death there is 
anything but rare and remote: it is seen near at hand 
and frequently, and in the close view it is revealed 
far more often as a glorious climax than as a gloomy 
tragedy. 

The same, of course, is true of death in the family 
circle. In its actual presence we usually find the 
bereaved ones composed and upheld, instead of be- 
side themselves, as we had pictured their pitiful case. 
Death by them is recognised as a transition, a tem- 
porary parting, a going on ahead — as a beginning 
rather than an ending. Nor can I forbear in this 
connection from recalling an instructive sequel to 
the loss of many Salvationists on the s.s. Empress 
of Ireland. At a memorial service in London, Mrs. 
Bramwell Booth, telling how she had visited the 
bereaved families in England, spoke of her relief and 
gratitude at finding them marvellously sustained by 
grace, instead of being in the grief-distraught condi- 
tion her imagination had suggested. 

And so, as I say, from the splendid vantage point 
of the Front, death loses its false character of a 
grim and monstrous calamity. At the Front one un- 
derstands, without mental fumbling, about the liv- 
ing soul of the dead boy. At the Front one finds, 
among our lads generally, the bright eyes and happy 
hearts that reveal peace and understanding. 

But to resume my narrative. Quartermaster-Ser- 



THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 135 

geant Powell returned to the store, and, addressing 
me, said: 

"I've been trying to find some one I should very 
much like you to meet. Seeing you so interested in 
Sergeant Withers, I know how delighted you would 
be with Sergeant Towndrow. He is such a quiet, un- 
assuming fellow, and yet, do you know, he's one of 
the most splendid influences and best-liked men in 
the camp. But unfortunately I find he has gone 
down to hospital." 

"That is news to me," commented the Quarter- 
master, "and bad news. It must be something seri- 
ous, for he wouldn't easily give in. Yes; Sergeant 
Towndrow is the means of helping many of his com- 
rades. He's a very, very fine fellow." 

Conversation was here interrupted by the arrival 
of a messenger; and, business temporarily claiming 
the attention of both my companions, I set forth 
alone on a stroll round the camp. Nor was it long 
before my wandering footsteps had brought me to 
the large recreation hut, where I made two nota- 
ble discoveries. Outside there lay on the ground 
250 shovels — destined for the working-party which, 
after nightfall, were to visit newly acquired trenches 
for the double purpose of recovering the dead and 
rebuilding parapets. Inside, the perspective of 
chairs and tables revealed three journals open for 
perusal: one in the foreground, another in the mid- 
dle distance, a third at the far end; and on inves- 
tigation I found that the first was half of the past 
week's War Cry, while the second proved to be the 
other half, and the third turned out to be none other 
than an entire second copy of the same issue. 



136 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Who put these War Crys here?" I asked a pri- 
vate engaged in writing a letter. 

'*! don't know for certain," he replied, "but I ex- 
pect it was Sergeant Towndrow." 

Then I returned to the store and to the society 
of my two friends. 

"Have you mentioned about the Mascot, sir?" 
the Sergeant asked his superior. 

"No," came the reply, "but he must hear about 
the Mascot"; and the genial Quartermaster broke 
into a hearty laugh. "You tell him. I must run 
away now and see the Adjutant." 

"The Mascot" — I was soon learning — "is a droll 
little chap whom everybody likes, and we give him 
that nickname because he's our smallest man — in 
fact, goodness knows how he got into the Army at 
all. Well, the boys had just gone over the parapet, 
and an officer went hurrying along to see the last 
man out of the trenches, when who should he find 
left behind but the poor little Mascot, who was mak- 
ing prodigious efforts to climb up, and was almost 
choking with mortification because he kept slipping 
back. 'Here! Get over,' said the officer; where- 
upon the Mascot frantically twisted round, saluted, 
and said, almost with tears in his eyes, 'Please, sir, 
would you mind giving me a bump up?' So the 
officer assisted his ascent, the Mascot losing no time 
in grabbing the four bombs he had pushed on ahead 
of his own movements. With one bomb in each 
hand and the others in his pocket, away darted the 
excited Mascot, the officer following close on his 
heels. And soon the Mascot stopped at a little length 
of trench that had not detained the main body in 



THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 137 

their dash forward. In rapid succession he threw 
two bombs, which duly exploded, and he was already 
In the act of taking aim with a third when his de- 
meanour underwent an abrupt change, and, standing 
there without moving, he gazed helplessly down upon 
the enemy he had assaulted with so much spirit. 'Go 
on, throw the others,' shouted the officer, who, as he 
came up, could see a group of gesticulating Germans 
at the farther end of the trench. 'But, sir, they want 
to surrender!' cried the Mascot In a quavering, awe- 
struck voice ; and, sure enough, the officer found them 
with outstretched hands, and pleading for 'Maircy, 
Komerade!' 'AH right; take them prisoners, then,' 
ordered the officer, as he hurried on to the main bat- 
tlefield." 

"Which left the Mascot with rather a heavy re- 
sponsibility, one would think?" 

"Yes, but he was quite equal to it. As he was in 
possession of bombs those Germans were quick to 
lay down their arms at his direction. It seems he 
had knocked out four, but there were eight left. 
And the strange thing is that he brought them all 
safely through the seven and a half hours' shelling. 
Being so proud of his prisoners, he must have taken 
the most scrupulous pains to keep them out of harm's 
way; and no one who saw it will ever forget the 
scene next morning, when he brought his prisoners 
into camp. A Highlander led the way, then in sin- 
gle file came the eight prisoners, and behind them 
marched the Mascot. His head was held well back 
and his chest was thrown well out, but, compared 
with those burly Germans, he looked smaller than 
ever. 'Why, what have you got there?' asked an 



138 SOULS IN KHAKI 

officer on their arrival. 'My captives, sir,' replied 
the Mascot." 

Still more light was destined to be thrown on the 
psychology of the regiment to which I was tempo- 
rarily attached. 

During the evening, business brought to the store 
a succession of privates and N.C.O.'s., and nearly 
all lingered for a word or two of gossip. 

Only one subject was referred to — the recent en- 
gagement. Nearly always the allusion was to lost 
comrades or stern vicissitudes of the fight, and al- 
ways the speaker and his hearers were involved in 
a common ecstasy that rounded their cheeks and 
put a sparkle in their eyes. 

Upon the entrance of a certain machine-gun Ser- 
geant there was a general hush, for it seemed he 
had had some epic experiences in his corner of the 
hurly-burly, so that his reminiscences were eagerly 
awaited. But he merely stood bolt upright, slowly 
repeating: "Aye, aye, it were turrible — turrible. 
I want na more — I want na more." But the look he 
fixed on space was a look of absolute rapture. 

A reference to rum rations drew interesting dis- 
closures. 

"Yes, they have to be served," said the Quarter- 
master-sergeant, "and I, who am a life-long ab- 
stainer, have to see they are available. On the day 
we have been referring to, I sent the rum to the 
trenches and the Colonel sent it back. The division 
we belong to, while sometimes called the Iron Di- 
vision, is usually known as the Teetotal Division. 
By no means all the men are teetotallers, but there 
is a heavy percentage who are. Some of us look in 



THE BATTLE OF THE BLUFF 139 

that direction to explain the efficiency which belongs 
— or at any rate is said to belong — to our division." 

Callers gradually dropped off, and as the hour of 
midnight drew near I was persuaded to seek repose 
on the camp bedstead so Icindly placed at my disposal 
in the store. But it was my firm resolve not to go to 
sleep. The Quartermaster-sergeant had announced 
his intention to remain awake until the return of our 
search party in the small hours, when he was anx- 
ious to help in supplying them with food. Fain 
would the visitor have emulated that generosity; 
but, alas, promptly did I succumb to the soothing 
lullaby of bursting shells and gnawing rats. 

Nor did an orderly wake me until the store was 
bathed in sunlight and we were well embarked on 
the day that was to witness the strange adventures 
that befell me in passing through Ypres to the 
trenches. 

The Quartermaster insisted on accompanying me 
to the car, when, with a final grip of the hand, he 
said: 

"I shall always have a soft place in my heart for 
the Salvation Army. As a lad of twelve at Peckham 
I belonged to it, and very proud I was of my little 
red jersey. But there is a deeper reason for what 
I feel towards General Booth and his people. A 
relative of mine went down and down until he seemed 
utterly lost and beyond anybody's help. But the Sal- 
vation Army reached him and lifted him up and put 
him on his feet again. Some of us can never forget 
that, and never be sufficiently grateful. Whenever 
I meet a Salvationist officer or soldier I think of 
what we owe to the Army. And I never see a Sal- 



140 SOULS IN KHAKI 

vatlonist taking up a collection," he added, "but I 
put something in the box." 

It was good to hear that six feet and fourteen 
stone of robust, wholesome manhood, talking about 
his "little red jersey." 



CHAPTER XI 

A VISIT TO YPRES 

The distraught-looking lunatic asylum — A civic nightmare — Ar- 
rested — Taken before the authorities — Permission to look round 
— A cit\' of brand-new ruins — Shells prettily bursting — Skel- 
eton walls and hillocks of debris — The song of the birds — 
Inside the wrecked cathedral — Unexploded shells — Looking for 
the Cloth Hall — A tour of private houses — Pathetic medley of 
domestic articles — The surviving garden — Corporal Clegg and 
the wounded bird — Confidences in a church — His Salvationist 
associations — Ypres by moonlight — My droll predicament. 

As my military chauffeur was bumping across mend- 
ed shell holes, and dodging round the other kind, 
I espied a silent, smokeless city, and exclaimed: 

"What place is this we are coming to?" 

"Ypres," replied my preoccupied companion; and 
it was exciting news. 

So, after all, here was I about to enter the famous 
city, and under conditions ideal for observation, 
namely, at ten o'clock on a brilliant sunny March 
morning. 

Already were we passing a great building, obvi- 
ously of recent date, that stood back in its grounds; 
but instead of forming a straight line, the fagade 
met the sky in a zig-zag of brickwork and masonry 
dented, holed, and smashed. Breaks and blemishes 

141 



142 SOULS IN KHAKI 

also showed lower on the frontage, as also along the 
enclosing wall beside the road. 

I had grown accustomed to shattered country cot- 
tages and collapsed farm buildings. Indeed, for 
days I had moved amid picturesque rural ruins, and 
my eyes had ceased to be acquainted with buildings 
in their normal condition — namely, whole, tidy, and 
inhabited. But this was the first time I had seen a 
large specimen of modern architecture that had been 
visited by high explosives. Because the building was 
bright and new there was something uncannily 
squalid in the scars and injuries that pitted It. With 
no movement at chimneys or windows, the great 
building gaped lifeless in the glare of the sun. 

"It's the lunatic asylum," explained my driver; 
and that is just what it looked like — a building gone 
mad. 

But another fact about that institution came to 
light when we had left it well behind. The lunatic 
asylum, probably because of its suburban situation, 
had not been nearly so badly battered as other In- 
stitutions of Ypres. We were now entering the city 
proper, where it looked as though every building, 
instead of being merely scarred, had suffered severe 
amputation. One had no roof or chimney stack, half 
the frontage of another was missing, a third had 
lost Its side wall. Ypres, indeed, was a city of houses 
that were partly in excellent repair and partly in 
hopeless ruins; and I was deep in the contemplation 
of this civic monstrosity — this landlord's nightmare 
— when some mlHtary police stopped the car and 
demanded to see my papers. 

Nor was it many moments before. If not under 



A VISIT TO YPRES 143 

arrest, at any rate under compulsory escort, I was 
taken through a fortification of sandbags and ush- 
ered into the presence of a certain officer. 

While admitting that my authorisations were in- 
fluential and comprehensive, he courteously pointed 
out that I lacked the necessary permit for my passage 
through the city. To secure that permit, he ex- 
plained, I must make personal application at a spe- 
cified office in a certain town less than fifty miles 
away. 

It seemed there were other blemishes in my pro- 
gramme. 

"How were you proposing," asked the officer, "to 
get to the th brigade headquarters?" 

"The chauffeur promised to drive me as far as 
he could," was my reply, "and I was going to walk 
the rest." 

"What! in broad daylight?" exclaimed the offi- 
cer. "Why, you would be under fire nearly all the 
way. Those headquarters can only be reached after 
dark." 

Whereupon, apologising for the unintentional ir- 
regularity of my conduct, and promising to return 
anon with the necessary document in my possession, 
I was about to withdraw, when a cheerful looking 
police sergeant, with a thoughtfulness for which I 
could not feel sufficiently grateful, turned to his 
superior, and, in a confidential aside, said: 

"Seeing he is here, sir, perhaps there would be 
no harm in letting him run up and see the Cloth 
Hall?" 

"Oh, all right — give him a guide," rapped out 
the officer, almost with the air of a man who does 



144 SOULS IN KHAKI 

not wish his official right hand to know what his 
fraternal left hand is doing. 

And the military police sergeant summoned a mili- 
tary police corporal, with whom (after Informing 
my chauffeur of the new turn events had taken) 
I set out on foot, in a state of lively gratitude, to In- 
spect Ypres. 

A sunny city of brand-new ruins — such was the 
scene of our saunter. It was a khaki-coloured city, 
wondrous picturesque, placid, and (forgive me for 
saying) peaceful. True, occasional shells were 
bursting to right and left of us, but they were at 
any rate bursting very prettily — that is to say, above 
the artificial dilapidations one sometimes saw (when 
one happened to be looking in the right direction) 
either an instantaneous flash or an expanding shape 
of yellow-white wooUiness, suggestive of an aerial 
polar bear. 

After proceeding along several thoroughfares, 
one had a definite sense of Ypres as an architectural 
unity — every building being a ruin; and while any- 
thing like monotony was prevented by variations of 
elevation and of structural bulk, adjoining buildings 
were apt to merge together In a common heap of 
co-mingled bricks, stone, and mortar. Wherever 
premises were at all exposed — not merely to the 
weather, but to certain metal cylinders that travel, 
swift and invisible, through the weather — those 
premises had become grey hillocks of ceilings, doors, 
floors, windows, chairs, tiles, bedsteads, and lime 
dust; perhaps partly sheltered by some fragmentary 
skeleton of surviving outer brickwork. 

Here and there I saw shutters (protected by a 



A VISIT TO YPRES 14<6 

screen of sandbags) across what had, no doubt 
been business premises; but shop -nts w^re no 
otherwise visible. Of the baker, the butcher, the 
ironmonger, and their fellow-tradesmen, there re- 
maned no 'sign. Obviously the Ypres shops had 
long since been blown to smithereens— smashed, pul- 
vertd, and obliterated. And those other accus- 
tomed attributes of a city-the pedestrians the ve- 
hicular traffic, the children at play, the dogs and 
eats-Ypres lacked them also. It was a city with- 
out movement, animation, or noise (beyond the oc 
casional boom and rumble of exploding shells) . _ 

There appeared to be only two things happening 
^t Ypres-^t was being blasted, bit by bit ; and many 
wrens and finches were singing among its ruins. 

Never for my ears had the flutings and whistling 
of little birds been richer in ^^'^^^^^^/"^^^'S"^;; 
cance. Somehow the gentle music seemed to smother 
the rougher sound, as though eternal wisdom were 
revealed in contrast to a temporary triviality. 

We visited the cathedral of St. Martin— or, 
rather, the broken skeleton of what once was the 
cathedral of St. Martin. There still survived jagged 
and perforated portions of the hard outer case, 
with here a nobility of design in the arch of a win- 
dow and there some choice embellishment of stone 
carving. Otherwise one saw little to indicate a 
sacred edifice, let alone a noble architectural relic 
of the thirteenth century. u ^e. 

The early Gothic nave and aisles, the superb rose 
window, the late Renaissance choir stalls, the altars 
fonts, pillars, and tombs-these were "othmg but 
hips splinters, and dust, piled high in heaps that 



146 SOULS IN KHAKI 

we had perforce to climb in getting from one part 
of the building to another. 

Other mounds upon the cathedral floor were 
formed of cheap furniture, wearing apparel, do- 
mestic utensils — aye, and children's toys. For in 
early days of the bombardment of Ypres, poor 
citizens, finding themselves in the midst of burst- 
ing shells, conveyed their property to the cathedral 
for safety; and there it remained, all higgledy- 
piggledy, and thick in dust from the avalanches 
of shattered masonry that occurred when projec- 
tiles hit walls near by. 

From the cathedral, concerned to find the Cloth 
Hall, we set off across the market-place — still a 
fine open space, though garnished on its margins 
with huge shell holes, some of which had become 
reservoirs of rain-water. Also on the debris-strewn 
edge of that great square we saw an unexploded 
German shell — of which, indeed, several counter- 
parts were destined to be revealed on our protracted 
exploration of the city. The least tap — my com- 
panion warned me — might cause them to explode; 
but, however that might be, I felt little temptation 
to tamper with those faulty canisters of pent-up 
mischief. 

Again we walked along some of Ypres' leading 
thoroughfares — to wit, more or less open avenues 
between lines of bruised and crumpled architec- 
ture, where gabled Gothic and seventeenth-century 
facades had been transformed into the general like- 
ness of a disused limekiln. 

"Strange I" my baffled companion was presently 
ruminating, "I've seen the Cloth Hall — and been 



A VISIT TO YPRES 147 

in it, too — often enough, though not just lately. 
What's more, I never had any trouble in finding 
it before." 

Driven at last to the expedient of asking a com- 
rade in khaki, the Corporal learnt — and at once 
remembered in a flood of self-reproaches — that the 
Cloth Hall was situated alongside the cathedral. 
Whereupon we humbly bent our steps (for about 
the sixth time) to the great market-place, there to 
make the strange discovery that we had not only 
seen the Cloth Hall already, but had actually been 
inside it — so far, at least, as it is possible to be in- 
side a building which has ceased to have a roof, or 
any structural interior, but is merely an area littered 
with rubble, and bounded in part by the gaunt relics 
of what once were walls of classic beauty. 

As, unfortunately, neither of us had a map of 
Ypres, it was largely a matter of guess work to 
determine where one building ended and another 
began. But at least, on studying chaos in the light 
of our new knowledge, I was able to appreciate the 
conditions of comparative shelter which had allowed 
one of the cathedral entrances, profusely embel- 
lished with carvings of sacred significance, to sur- 
vive almost intact. A disabled cannon on its limber 
was picturesquely entangled with the blocks of stone 
that partly encumbered the entrance archway. 

Having now at last finished with the buildings 
of note, we wandered into a quarter of the city 
where, because the thoroughfares were narrow, many 
houses had been less exposed to frontal damage 
than was the case elsewhere. Doors and windows, 
it is true, had for the most part been blown in, but 



148 SOULS IN KHAKI 

here and there was a house having the ground floor 
structurally intact, so that we walked through par- 
lours and into kitchens, gazing upon a pathetic lit- 
ter of papers, pictures, furniture, books, cooking 
pans, clothing, and miscellaneous domestic objects. 

In one doorless house I opened a cupboard, to 
find on a shelf three rusty door keys. In another 
I noted upon the floor a child's broken sabot, and 
balls of crotchet cotton attached to an unfinished 
doll's garment. In yet a third parlour, where a 
bedstead hung halfway through a hole in the ceil- 
ing, I saw a shattered rocking-horse lying in com- 
pany with pieces of shrapnel. 

But all was not sadness even in those streets of 
stricken homes. For we came upon a little garden 
which, because screened by a close succession of thick 
walls, had been unvisited by shells and unsullied by 
powdered bricks and mortar. Out of the black soil 
bright green shoots were sprouting, and in one bed 
was a glorious clump of daffodils. 

And still the sun was shining, still the sky was 
blue, and still a song of optimism was sounding over- 
head. But my companion said, rather abruptly: 

"I'm surprised at you, sir." 

"Why, what have I done?" I asked in consterna- 
tion, unable to surmise the social delinquency of 
which he had found me guilty. 

"You don't seem to mind the shelling at all," he 
explained. 

"Well, I'm sorry," was my apologetic reply, "but 
I'm afraid I had forgotten all about it." 

"Can't you hear it?" he protested. 

"I do now. But when you spoke I was listening 



A VISIT TO YPRES 149 

to something else. Hark! Don't you know what 
I mean?" 

The Corporal obviously made conscientious but 
unavailing efforts with his ears, 

"Oh, the birds," he was presently echoing. "Yes, 
they seem In full song, don't they? And that brings 
to mind something which happened yesterday. I 
was coming down the next street to this when what 
should I notice in the roadway but a little bird! 
You could see It was injured by the way It flut- 
tered; and when I took it up In my hand I found 
that both its legs had been broken. A shell had, 
no doubt, done that for the poor little thing." 

And there was pain and pity In his voice. 

"Now, I mustn't forget," my painstaking guide 
was presently adding, "to show you a beautiful little 
church that's not far from here. It hasn't suffered 
like the others." 

For, in our leisurely explorations, he had already 
taken me to some half-dozen churches and several 
shrines — most of them In a state of pitiful collapse 
and disarray — yet in no instance (so far as I had 
noted) with any harm done to the crucifix. 

As we walked towards the church, It chanced that 
we met a few sight-seeing Tommies, who, like others 
previously encountered, were obviously In a placid, 
not to say cheerful, frame of mind. And their smil- 
ing faces seemed, with the birds, the sunshine, and 
the blossoms, to be all links in one golden chain. 

On arriving at our new destination, I found that 
one shell had hit the pulpit, and another had smashed 
through the roof and gallery; but, speaking gen- 



150 SOULS IN KHAKI 

erally, the church was intact. It was the very place 
for a chat. 

And presently my companion was introducing him- 
self as Corporal Clegg, of Stockport. 

"No," he smiling admitted, "I'm not a member 
of the Salvation Army, but I have often played in 
the Salvation Army band at Stockport. I have a 
cousin who is a Salvationist, and I never came across 
a finer woman for living an unselfish life." 

"Good. And now I want to go back a bit. You 
remember saying you were surprised because I didn't 
mind the shelling? The reason why I don't mind 
is this; I have a feeling of being safe in God's keep- 
ing, and that whether I live or whether I die is a 
matter in His hands. I came out with the resolve 
to rely wholly upon Him and not In the slightest 
degree on myself; and though I have always re- 
garded myself as a bit of a funk, there was not a 
single moment's uneasiness in looking forward to 
coming, and, now I am here, there is no fear — 
in fact, I feel thrills of pleasure in the presence of 
danger. Why I am saying all this is to see how the 
matter stands with you. If you noticed that I don't 
mind the shelling, I also noticed that you don't 
mind it either. And here you have devoted two 
hours of leisure to wandering openly about the 
city when you might have been behind sandbags 
or safe In a cellar. Now, I want to know If you 
also are not walking by faith In humble reliance on 
God?" 

"Yes, sir, I am," was the Corporal's emphatic 
reply; and there was corroboration in his eyes. 

"And don't you think," I asked, "that it is a 



A VISIT TO YPRES 151 

general experience out here, and that it explains, 
for instance, the happy expressions of the lads we 
just passed on the road?" 

"I am sure," replied Corporal Clegg with con- 
viction, "that that is so." 

However, over two hours having been occupied 
in our explorations, it behoved me to be moving 
on; and therefore, after tendering thanks to the 
Corporal and apologies to the chauffeur, I was soon 
in the initial stage of what proved a troublesome 
and protracted business — namely, the procuring of 
a permit to pass through Ypres. 

Not, indeed, until some six hours later was the 
necessary document in my possession; and so it was 
well after sundown when, for the second time that 
day, I presented myself before the officer previously 
referred to, whom, by the way, I wished to con- 
sult about a difficulty that now confronted me. 

Divisional headquarters had provided me with a 
new chauffeur, who said he could carry me no 
farther than the confines of the city. It seemed 
he had grown accustomed to the risk of being killed 
by a shell; but he objected to going into open coun- 
try which, besides affording unhindered scope for 
exploding projectiles, was presumably swept by Ger- 
man bullets. Nor, of course, did I seek to alter his 
decision, though it left me wondering what I was to 
do about my baggage, which must on no account be 
left behind. 

The courteous officer, on gaining a clue to my 
predicament, at once told off two men to act as my 
guides within the limits of his authority. "If they 
care to take you beyond the city," he added, "I shall 



'152 SOULS IN KHAKI 

be very pleased for them to do so; but they must 
decide that point for themselves." 

They decided it there and then — their emphatic 
decision duplicating that already arrived at by the 
chauffeur. 

Thereupon the officer took me on one side, and, 
with the aid of pencil and paper, afforded such clear 
Indications of my route as, he was confident, would 
enable me to complete my journey alone and on 
foot. 

A few minutes later, the car, with the two new 
occupants, was resuming its journey across the city. 

Ruined Ypres, bathed in moonlight and mystery, 
was supremely picturesque. One still heard the 
boom and bang of shells bursting far and near. 
The car plunged forward with a sort of muffled pre- 
cipitancy. No one spoke. We were all staring 
ahead into the grey light, to see whether a projectile 
fell in our path. 

Here, then, was danger in a romantic setting; 
and I felt all my senses pleasurably alert. Yet an 
undignified little personal problem would keep in- 
truding itself. 

My baggage could be comfortably carried single- 
handed for only a few yards at a stretch; and the 
prospective journey on foot was a matter of mileage. 

In imagination I saw a peaceful pedestrian floun- 
dering into unknown possibilities and unfamiliar ter- 
ritory, a heavily-laden gladstone bag in one hand 
and a pair of gum boots in the other — his forward 
progress constantly interrupted by spells of puffing 
and blowing. 



CHAPTER XII 

ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 

At brigade headquarters — A benign General — His hospitable offer 
— Out in the mist once more — My placid escorts — Confidence 
under fire — The workings of Divine Justice — Mud, rats, and 
bullets — Meeting sleepy Tommies — White crosses: an optical 
illusion — The sentry's challenge — Arrival at the dug-outs — The 
doctor's tidings — A subterranean surgery — Overtaking wound- 
ed men — The field hospital — Suspected as a spy — An aston- 
ished surgeon. 

The expected ordeal was averted. 

We reached open country to find it shrouded In 
ghostly mist, whereupon my companions conferred 
privily together; their deliberations issuing so 
favourably that, on second thoughts, they accom- 
panied me, partly awheel and partly on foot, to 
the queer-looking structure that proved to be my 
destination. 

I thanked those three lads, and bade them adieu, 
in a salute which, however defective in military 
precision, was full of heartiness and sincerity. Then 
it was my experience to be standing among khaki 
ghosts in the milky moonlight, with an agreeable 
sense of having reached another milestone on my 
journey into the grim unknown. 

For note how the civilian's experiences were un- 
folding themselves in well-defined stages of interest. 

153 



154. SOULS IN KHAKI 

To begin with, officers of my first regiment, whose 
sphere was west of Ypres, had thrown a new glam- 
our over that city by representing it as too unsafe 
to be visited. Then, from men grown accustomed 
to Ypres risks, had come mention of superior perils 
in the open country that I now was traversing. 

So far there had been nothing but a quick, quiet 
journey through a mile or so of silvery haze. But 
in that atmospheric effect, coupled with a damp- 
ness in the night air, and the hush brooding over 
my new companions, I found something sufficiently 
impressive. The ear noted, if not new sounds, at 
any rate sounds heard in a new perspective. Well 
defined was the spit-spit of rifle fire, but every now 
and then we heard nothing but a machine-gun's im- 
perious rat-a-tat-tat — like some one knocking on a 
wooden wall near by. 

Subdued Tommies ushered me into a primitive 
chamber which might in days gone by have wit- 
nessed the making of cheese or the baking of bread. 
At the head of a long table sat an elderly General, 
whose benign, polished manner lent a dignity to his 
rude surroundings. Distributed about the apartment 
were his staff — all young men, whose preoccupations 
with ink and paper my entrance interrupted. I 
gathered that people did not often drop in to see 
them, particularly at that late hour in the evening. 
All gave the visitor a most fraternal welcome, and 
soon he was eating cake and drinking mineral water 
while the genial General smiled upon him and asked 
questions. 

Was I really going that night to the trenches? 
Wouldn't I accept such a shake-down as it was in 



ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 155 

his power to offer? In a word (and he summed 
up the matter with twinkling eyes), which did I 
prefer — discomfort or comfort? 

My decision was in favour of adhering to the 
programme laid down for me; and therefore, after 
inspecting and handling a piece of shrapnel which, 
it seemed, had that afternoon struck the General's 
heel, I withdrew In the company of a friendly young 
subaltern who was instructed to see to my going 
forth — our preparations including the withdrawal 
from my luggage of heavy articles that could ad- 
vantageously be left behind, and the temporary sub- 
stitution for my gum boots of a pair of military 
waders. 

Nor was it long before the pampered adventurer 
was setting forth once more into the chill grey mist, 
accompanied by two lads who, between them, made 
light of his reduced impedimenta. 

There was an educated ring in their quiet voices 
as they alertly responded to my remarks. They 
were such boys as the outbreak of war would no 
doubt have found newly emerged from school — per- 
haps not yet embarked on commercial or profes- 
sional life ; in a word, middle-class boys in the golden, 
lawn-tennis phase of existence. And there they were, 
out in that chill Flanders' mist — guarding the Brit- 
ish Empire and human liberty; and guarding them 
in a spirit which, because typical of our lads at the 
front, I fain would define. 

They spoke with a complacency rendered the more 
acceptable because of an impersonal note in the 
things they said. I had been careful to tell them 
who I was, so that there might be no risk, in the 



156 SOULS IN KHAKI 

uncertain light, of their mistaking me for a per- 
sonage. And certainly they spoke without con- 
straint, as also without a mental pose of any sort, 
whether in the direction of emphasising, belittling, 
or burlesquing the dangers amid which they lived. 
Their manner was free from the slightest sugges- 
tion of impatience, frivolity, or fear. It was calm, 
courteous, sympathetic, and gentle. 

I said how sorry I was to be taking them out 
into the open, when but for me they would doubt- 
less have been enjoying comfortable accommoda- 
tion under some sort of cover. There was almost 
a filial note in the assurances they made haste to 
give me; namely, that it did not matter at all, 
and that, in fact, they were only too pleased to be 
of service. 

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but was that a bul- 
let that just went by?" For It was early in the 
year for cockchafers, and I knew of no other beetle 
likely to be on the wing at that hour. 

"Yes," replied the lad who was carrying my 
gladstone bag. "That one," he added, in a spirit 
of mild criticism, "was flying rather high, I think"; 
and for some moments we advanced in silence. 

It seemed strange to be taking that pensive walk 
through opaque moonlight penetrated by little 
pieces of lead; still stranger to realise that this 
was war — not a written-up picture of war, but the 
reality. 

Only for a few yards did our vision have a clear 
range; and every now and then there came Into 
view, as we advanced, a figure or group of figures 
In khaki, mostly standing, sometimes sitting, and 



ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 157 

in a few cases lying on the ground. And those 
other lads, as I noted when they spoke with my 
companions, also were serious and supremely tran- 
quil. 

For this is the fact I want to report: those men 
and lads, lilce others I had met at the Front, were 
obviously sustained by a grace that issued from the 
unerring working of Divine Justice. They had sur- 
rendered all the joys of life, and stood prepared 
to surrender life itself, on the altar of liberty; and 
could it be otherwise than that they should reach 
a sure consolation? Moreover, our human percep- 
tion gropes its way to a recognition of this guiding 
law of the universe: that joy has its roots in sacri- 
fice, and that the gain is ever in proportion to the 
giving. 

The boy carrying my bag spoke without embar- 
rassment of God's love, and the boy carrying my 
boots said it was nice to know that death did not 
matter. 

Such, I feel sure, was the subject nearest their 
hearts. They were living in a sort of golden twi- 
light between time and eternity. For our lads at 
the Front (it was growing more and more clear) 
death had the immediate practical importance which 
belongs to the next thing that is going to happen. 

My thoughts were still dwelling on our wonder- 
fully upheld soldiers when we found ourselves pro- 
ceeding in single file along duck boards, which ran 
through a region that was a-swim with khaki-col- 
oured mud. A downcast gaze soon became necessary 
to ensure that one did not step or slip off the nar- 
row and slimy pathway. 



158 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Be careful here, sir," said the leading lad, In- 
dicating some tilted boarding, where an unprepared 
footstep might have involved one's downfall. 

I trod cautiously and was safely past the peril 
when whizz ! went a bullet through the wet air — and 
whizz ! went another one. 

**Those, I think, were some way to our left," the 
rear lad quietly explained. 

Instead of returning an appropriate reply, I ut- 
tered a muffled ejaculation as a large lump of mud 
to our right went scampering off into the mist — 
for that was the uncanny Impression received by 
my imagination. 

"Rather a sleepy old rat, that," lightly remarked 
my leader- "There are any number about here." 

It was even so. During the next few minutes 
I saw three more of those khaki-coloured creatures. 
One nearly brushed against my boots as he blun- 
dered across my path. How unnaturally tame a rat 
must be to run between two human beings walk- 
ing close together! Fortunately, I conquered an 
impulse to yell. 

Presently we heard footsteps approaching along 
the duck boards, and next minute were confronting 
the foremost of a party of Tommies newly emerged 
from the trenches. In that dim light they almost 
suggested Arctic explorers, so heavily were they en- 
cased in equipment and mud. 

To allow them passage, we had to step clear of 
the duck boards, and stand as best vre could oa such 
little hillocks of partial solidity as occurred in the 
morass. To preserve my balance, I clutched once 
or twice at a passing arm or shoulder; but so tired 



ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 159 

and sleepy were the dear fellows that they said 
nothing, and did not even turn their heads. They 
just plodded along, mechanically and in silence. 

The pop-pop-pop of the rifles sounded more and 
more distinct. _ ^^ 

"We never spend too much time at this part, 
soon our leader remarked, as he set an example of 
accelerated speed. 

"What are those lights?" I asked when, we having 
resumed our former pace, I looked up and thought 
I saw, on ahead to our left, some luminous patches 
faintly discernible in the mist. 

"There aren't any lights," replied the foremost 
lad, after directing, as it seemed to me, the most 
cursory glance in the indicated direction. And he 
went on to speak about something else. 

"Excuse me," I persisted, "but I can distinctly 
see shimmering lights." 

"No, sir," was the lad's prompt and almost 
peremptory reply; and the other lad broke in with 
the remark: "We are not far from the lines now." 

Obstinately staring into obscurity, I soon knew the 
pathetic explanation of an optical illusion. We were 
passing a place of burial for those killed outright 
in the firing line, and the rows of neat crosses, 
painted white, had afforded me a vision of re- 
fracted moonlight. 

A hissing bullet emphasised the situation, which 
linked up the living lads beside me with those other 
lads whose memorials lay yonder; and as I thought 
of the supreme manifestation of self-surrender, now 
revealed in a double aspect, the light on those crosses 
seemed like glimpses of glory. 



160 SOULS IN KHAKI 

But a new turn was given to my thoughts when 
for the second time we were brought to a stand- 
still by an imperative "Who goes there?" And let 
me say that those challenges were by far the most 
dramatic incidents of our walk. In each case a cer- 
tain stern sincerity in the sentry's manner contrasted 
sharply with the formal character of the phrase he 
uttered. Nay, the inflection of his voice helped me 
to realise that, under cover of the mist, a spy or 
trespassing German might be about, and that the 
sentry must needs act promptly if a questionable 
visitor hove into view. Fortunately, my compan- 
ions knew what answer to give, and lost no time in 
giving it. 

On speedily becoming satisfied that they were 
good men and true, each sentry included me within 
the scope of his confidence — this being, by the way, 
an ill preparation for the experience, which befell 
me later in the evening, of finding myself an ob- 
ject of acute suspicion and apprehension. 

But first I must mention that we came to a ter- 
race of dug-outs, at one of which (faced with a 
door and window of immaculate joinery) we pre- 
sented ourselves; whereupon the lads withdrew, and 
I was received by a group of officers, who almost 
looked as though they had been sitting up for me 
and would rather have been in bed. 

No time was lost in debating whether I should 
go forthwith into the trenches and spend the night 
there (an arrangement that would allow of a visit 
to certain mine craters which, because they offered 
no cover, could not be inspected by day) ; or whether 
I would get a proper night's sleep, and next day 



ADVENTURES BY MOONLIGHT 161 

go out with an officer whose duties would take him 
to the "International" and other recently captured 
trenches. I agreed to the latter plan, which was 
the one recommended by my hosts, who next sug- 
gested that, as it was past eleven, I might be will- 
ing, after partaking of a little refreshment, to turn 
In for the night. 

But before I had made much progress with the 
cake and oranges, it chanced that the regimental 
doctor arrived, and soon let fall the tidings that 
two of their men had just been shot. Whereupon 
I sought and obtained permission to go and study 
the procedure of their treatment, a private being 
told off to act as my guide. Nor had three minutes 
elapsed before he and I were entering a neighbour- 
ing dug-out which, constructed as though to resist 
earthquakes, was in use as the casualty station — 
place of first-aid to the wounded. 

Members of the staff obligingly explained, and 
to a certain extent displayed, the resources of that 
little subterranean surgery, which happened at the 
moment to be free of patients, the last two hav- 
ing, it seemed, only just departed for the field hos- 
pital. 

Towards that establishment, accordingly, we our- 
selves presently set out, the route proving to In- 
volve a return journey along the duck boards, and 
so reintroducing me to scurrying rats, slippery foot- 
steps, flying bullets, and stern sentries. 

Early we came upon a party of some half-dozen 
soldiers resting on a ledge of raised ground; and, 
a gleam of white bandages arresting my companion's 



162 SOULS IN KHAKI 

attention, he inquired of those comrades if we were 
going right for the field hospital. 

"Yes — are you wounded?" came the anxious re- 
ply of R.A.M.C. men who were in charge of our 
two casualties. 

Instead of keeping pace with them, we pushed 
on to anticipate their arrival at the hospital. 

Coming at last to the solid-looking ruin that 
proved to be our destination, we found our way 
into a brilliantly lighted chamber largely occupied 
by apparatus of the healing art and by assistants of 
the surgeon, who himself was not present. My es- 
cort uttered some brief explanation to a Corporal, 
who promptly disappeared into an inner apartment, 
whence at once issued the following exclamatory 
remarks, uttered as by a highly-strung man roused 
from a brief sleep snatched amid incessant toil: 

"What! Who is it? A civilianl But civilians 
don't get up here. What does he look like? Who 
does he say he is? Does he show any papers? 
Where is he?" And a lithe figure, full of nervous 
energy, almost sprang into the surgery. 

Directing only the briefest glance at me, the new- 
comer turned to my escort for information as to 
where, how, why, and when I first got into his com- 
pany; that phlegmatic young gentleman finding him- 
self subjected to a somewhat bewildering bombard- 
ment of questions. 

Finally, the surgeon, completely reassured, turned, 
and not only welcomed me with a charming courtesy, 
but invited me to await the next cases, and see him 
dress their wounds. 



CHAPTER XIII 

IN THE TRENCHES 

Two typical casualties — Invalids bashfully grinning — Their bullet 
wounds — Comments of the kindly surgeon — What became of 
the beef-tea — My night in a dug-out — Mistaken for the Colonel 
— A terrifying tail — Broken slumbers — An appetising break- 
fast — Setting forth with the Captain — ^War landscape — Wading 
through the trenches — Our men under fire — The dead lad — 
Bodies in the parapet — A peep at the shattered "International" 
— Thirty yards from the foe. 

Standing beside the surgeon, I soon was gazing at 
the two stricken soldiers who, aided by strong sup- 
porting arms, arrived on foot. 

They did not look like casualties, except that one 
man showed a helpless left arm, from which the 
sleeve of his tunic had been cut away, and that 
the other man had a bandage about his head. For 
the rest, each healthy pink face wore a placid, slightly 
apologetic, and distinctly self-conscious expression. 

"Well, now," murmured the sympathetic surgeon, 
when the man with an injured arm was seated un- 
der a brilliant light, "a bullet wound, I suppose?" 

"Yes, sir," replied the grinning invalid; and a 
minute later the surgeon's keen scissors had removed 
the slit shirt sleeve and he had withdrawn the first 
dressings. Thus were revealed two wounds which, 
although less than half an hour had elapsed since 

163 



164 SOULS IN KHAKI 

they were Inflicted, had ceased to bleed, showed no 
inflammation, and were, In fact, already well on the 
way to heal. The bullet, entering at the vaccinator's 
favourite muscle, had emerged through the shoul- 
der, and then no doubt continued on Its journey — 
perhaps as one of those that went whizzing by as 
I walked along the slippery duck boards. 

Almost before the surgeon could say what he 
wanted, assistants were at his elbow with lotions, 
lint, and other wholesome-smelling means of reduc- 
ing pain and promoting a speedy recovery; so that 
soon the wounds were re-dressed and the arm re- 
swathed. The patient, who all this time had com- 
tlnued to look pleased In a self-depreciatory sort of 
way, was about to rise; but Science had not quite 
done with him yet. An area of flesh had to be bared 
for the anti-tetanus injection. 

"Just a little pin-prick," remarked the persuasive 
surgeon, as he inserted his needle. Then at last 
the patient winced, though only momentarily; and 
in another minute he was applying himself with 
honest zest to a bowl of hot beef-tea. 

Meanwhile the second invalid had come under 
the strong light. 

"What! another bullet wound!" exclaimed the 
surgeon, in that cheerful tone of sympathy which 
was not without its emollient and curative value. 

"Aye," replied the patient, his voice having the 
same North Country burr as the other man's, and 
his face wearing much the same sort of bashful 
grin. 

"Some people," remarked the surgeon, after he 



IN THE TRENCHES 165 

had withdrawn the first dressings, "are pretty lucky, 
don't you think?" 

"Aye," agreed the patient, still grinning. 

Adroit sponging had laid bare a wound some two 
inches long, and showing about half an inch of scalp 
grooved out at the deepest part. 

"Your old head," continued the surgeon, as he 
applied soothing fluids with a touch of infinite del- 
icacy, "has had a knock before to-day?" 

Which remark received the immediate confirma- 
tion: 

"Aye — a loomp o' coal. I'm a miner." 

Then the surgeon asked for a razor and (after 
slyly explaining to me that he had to be a barber 
as well as a policeman) set about shaving his pa- 
tient's head in the region of the wound. When the 
blade, wielded so expertly, passed along an edge of 
the cranium cavity, I glanced at the miner's profile, 
which remained a picture of good-tempered forti- 
tude. 

With merely a passing squirm at the hypodermic 
injection, he reached the stage of receiving his basin 
of beef-tea; then, the pain and strain overcoming 
him at last, he put down the untasted food and had 
to be conducted to sleeping quarters. 

Nor was it long before, having thanked the kindly 
surgeon, I departed with my phlegmatic guide, who 
had, meanwhile, with great presence of mind, and 
acting entirely on his own initiative, consumed the 
derelict basin of beef-tea. 

The outside world remained what it had been — 
that is to say, cloudy moonlight illumined a damp 
mist, which prevented any one seeing any one else 



166 SOULS IN KHAKI 

outside a radius of some half-dozen yards; and, 
walking along slimy duck boards, we had once more 
to run the gauntlet of sentries, rats, and flying bul- 
lets. 

It was past midnight, but the war was still going 
on, even though — whether or no because of the late- 
ness of the hour I cannot say — distant shelling had 
ceased, and machine-guns were silent, leaving the 
everlasting staccato of rifle fire in undisputed pos- 
session of the field of sound. 

On returning to the dug-out, I found two of the 
officers still sitting up for me; and they were soon 
addressing themselves to the question of how my 
comfort could best be secured. It seemed that their 
apartment (which served as the officers' mess-room) 
had been allocated to my exclusive use as a sleeping 
chamber. A blanket already lay along a seat built 
out from the wall below the window; and one of the 
officers, as an old campaigner, recommended the fol- 
lowing procedure as likely to ensure a good night's 
rest: that, before retiring, I should take off my boots, 
and that I should not only remain In all my clothes, 
but put on, over my own overcoat, his still warmer 
one, the loan of which he accordingly pressed upon 
me. 

Then, bidding me make free with what was left 
on the table, they withdrew, and their visitor was 
left alone, with full opportunity to take stock of 
his surroundings. 

My imagination had often made guesses as to 
what it would feel like to spend the night in a dug- 
out; but the anticipation was now seen to have had 
little in common with the reality. Instead of hav- 



IN THE TRENCHES 167 

ing to put up with conditions suggesting the com- 
bined experiences of a miner and a rabbit, I found 
myself in a well-proportioned and well-lighted apart- 
ment which, with its art shade of canvas wall hang- 
ings and its simple oak furniture, had quite a Totten- 
ham Court Road air about it. The coal stove gave 
out welcome warmth, and, drawing a chair to the 
table, the civilian applied himself to cake, fruit, 
and mineral water with a keen appreciation of the 
most luxurious quarters that he had occupied since 
leaving the base. 

Having presently extinguished the lamp and lit 
a couple of candles, I was about to adopt a recum- 
bent position when two knocks came at the door; 
and the next minute, peering out into the rnist, I 
learnt from a pleasant-spoken private that his bat- 
talion had just arrived, and that, if quite agreeable, 
his O.C. would like to drop in and have a chat with 
me. Not for long, however, was I able to enter- 
tain an exaggerated view of my own importance; for 
the lad, clearly surprised at my surprise, added that 
he presumed I was the Colonel. 

Having undeceived that hasty reasoner, I pointed 
out, for what my opinion might be worth, that it 
was a little late to be paying calls, and that his O.C. 
would be well advised, as it seemed to me, if he 
deferred his visit till the morning. 

Left alone once more, I was soon lying snugly In 
my cocoon of overcoats, a book In my hand, and 
the candles by my side. But when one Is feeling 
supremely peaceful, thinking is more congenial than 
reading. I tried to realise that fortune had at last 
smiled upon my dreams, and that there I was in 



168 SOULS IN KHAKI 

the firing line of the greatest war the world had 
ever known. But one had no evidence on the sub- 
ject except (for I Hstened carefully) the Incessant 
pop-pop of rifle fire In the very back garden, as it 
seemed. 

Yet stay — what was that other sound? Alas! 
an unmistakable scratching behind the canvas hang- 
ings. There remained a vivid memory of those 
large, bold rats seen earlier in the night, and my 
cranium was visited by a cold sensation. 

Blowing out the lights, I sought oblivion In sleep; 
only, however, to start up a little later on hearing 
a squeak and a scuffle within a few inches of my 
head. I lit a candle and sat watching an aperture 
where. In the angle of the wall, one stretch of can- 
vas failed to meet another stretch of canvas. Pres- 
ently my staring eyes caught the wiggle of an un- 
mistakable tail. Then in dismay I beheld receptacles 
for food on the window sill. My face had been 
in a direct line between the biscuit box and the place 
where that tail had appeared. 

It was enough. No more window seat for me. 
And, unfortunately, the room did not offer an al- 
ternative couch. At last, however, with my head 
on a box beside the stove, and my body stretched 
across two chairs, I tried again. But a hard bed is 
painful, and a hard bed on which one has no room 
to turn Is purgatory. 

Soon after blowing out the light I realised that 
rats would be likely to come down the chimney. 
Then It occurred to me that they would be sure 
to want to eat the candles, which were lying near 
my face. A Tommy had recently told me of a 



IN THE TRENCHES 169 

friend whose lip was bitten by a rat. Striking an- 
other light, I got out my mackintosh cape and 
wrapped up my head In that. 

Shortly after dawn a little sleep came; but the 
lodger was not feeling very refreshed when an or- 
derly entered to tidy up the place and lay the cloth 
for breakfast. 

"No, sir," he was soon remarking, "they weren't 
rats. What you heard was mice. I've noticed 'em 
myself when I've slept here." 

Alas and alack! For I am not afraid of mice. 

However, it was too late to mend my broken 
night; nor did time serve for vain regrets. My com- 
panions of the previous night were soon arriving. 

For breakfast we had porridge, eggs and bacon, 
coffee, strawberry jam, a clean tablecloth, and good 
appetites; and during the meal I became acquainted 
with a cavalry Captain, and wearer of the D.S.O., 
who, it seemed, was going to take me into the 
trenches. 

Having paraded a working party (equipped with 
various means of making and repairing trenches), 
the Captain dispatched them by one route and him- 
self made ready to go forth, with a Lieutenant and 
myself, by another; our departure being somewhat 
delayed by the task, in which several friendly hands 
co-operated, of establishing me In my borrowed mili- 
tary waders — boots having uppers reaching to one's 
waist. 

After following a path cut into the side of a hill, 
we crossed an area of what had no doubt once 
been agricultural land, though whether pasture, 
arable, or orchard, could not readily be divined. It 



170 SOULS IN KHAKI 

was a typical bit of war landscape; and war land- 
scape is a phenomenon that cannot be adequately 
imagined by a person who has not seen it. Other 
landscapes reveal Nature in beautiful moods, 
whether placid or stern. The war landscape sug- 
gests Nature in an ugly, distraught mood. Picture 
a derelict brickfield that has been subjected to earth- 
quakes, and on which are trees that have been struck 
by lightning, and you will have an idea of the ground 
we were crossing. They told me the pretty name 
by which it was called; but whether the name echoed 
past charms, or had been conferred in irony, I did 
not gather. 

My next experience was more thrilling than a 
vision of blasted scenery. Coming upon a big 
groove, gutter, or channel cut in the earth, the 
Captain entered therein, and we followed; a dozen 
paces bringing us to tolerably uniform dimensions 
in the excavation — ample shoulder room, with a 
depth of about five feet. 

And so I found myself at last in the trenches — 
the trenches, which, more primitive than the aver- 
age contrivances of untutored savages, have become 
the most important factor in our advanced modern 
world, and the point at which human fears and 
hopes are mainly focussed. 

I have since traversed several different forms of 
trenches, some of scientific construction and stylish 
finish. Owing to an unfavourable combination of 
meteorological, military, and geological conditions, 
that particular trench was (as I was afterwards to 
realise) a pretty poor specimen. It suggested — 
nay, It duplicated — one of the deep, broad drains 



IN THE TRENCHES 171 

dug across marshy land. It was certainly acting as 
a drain, in a sluggish sort of way. While not con- 
taining enough water to meet the requirements of 
a swimmer or an angler, it contained too much to 
admit of ordinary progress even by persons having 
their legs wholly encased in india-rubber. 

It would not have mattered if the water had 
been only some two or three feet deep, or on a 
hard bottom. Sometimes the bottom was soft mud, 
which, having received one's boots, endeavoured to 
retain them by the power of suction. Even more 
to be dreaded were certain holes of which the Cap- 
tain warned the Lieutenant and the Lieutenant 
warned me; the Captain's topographical knowledge, 
which was obviously comprehensive and intimate, 
being subject to correction or amplification by sol- 
diers on duty along our route. 

Of those soldiers my mind received two impres- 
sions. One was of their helpfulness, as illustrated 
by a watchful readiness, where necessary, to direct 
our footsteps into a path of safety. The other im- 
pression was of their unobtrusiveness. Sons of cob- 
blers and sons of clergymen; merchants, students, 
milkmen; men from the universities and lads from 
the slums — there they were, all clumsily enveloped 
in khaki, all bedabbled with clay, and all apparently 
in a blissful state of self-effacement. They were 
linked together by a common bond of unqualified 
altruism, and, incidentally, they were affording a 
triumphant vindication of the essential brotherhood 
orf man. 

Presently It became a feature of our walk that 
the Captain should every now and then remark, 



172 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"Better bend a bit here, if you please"; and his 
six feet or so of magnificent manhood set an example 
of spinal curvature. The farther we went, the more 
occasion was there for stooping, we having come 
into a region where, some eight days before, a 
protracted tornado of exploding shells had done 
more mischief than there had since been time thor- 
oughly to repair. 

What with the inconvenience of floundering about 
in muddy water, and the strain on the small of one's 
back, the situation might, under ordinary circum- 
stances, have grown irksome. But physical discom- 
fort merely assisted a realisation of one's privilege 
in being there to share, for a few hours, perils and 
hardships which, often in far sterner degrees, our 
glorious lads face so cheerfully for months to- 
gether. 

Here and there a ton or so of clay had been 
scooped out of the side, above the water level, and 
the recess thus formed, with or without a sack hung 
over the entrance, made an acceptable sleeping cham- 
ber. Often, indeed, protruding legs occurred as 
mild obstructions across our path. 

In a stretch of trench where, because of a rising 
gradient, the bottom was merely muddy, I came 
across a lad who, with his back leaning against one 
side and his feet against the other, had succeeded 
in going to sleep in an upright position. The Cap- 
tain set a fine example by his care in getting by 
without disturbing that slumberer. The adaptable 
lad seemed, judging by the placid face that hung 
over his chest, to be having the happy dreams he 
doubtless deserved. 



IN THE TRENCHES 17^ 

From this point the ground became dry under 
foot, but so battered and Irregular were the brows 
of the trench that a stooping attitude had to be 
maintained. And soon we were encouraged In our 
caution by a sight full of beautiful pathos. Wrapped 
in a blanket, and placed ready for removal on a 
stretcher, lay the body of a lad who, a short half 
hour before, had stood quietly and contentedly at 
the post of duty with those other quiet and con- 
tented lads, his friends and comrades, whom we 
found on the spot. 

I wondered If the father and mother In an Eng- 
lish suburban villa — for imagination pictured the 
matter thus — could have desired for their darling 
boy a more triumphant passing into his Home in 
the Beyond. For the lad who dies in the trenches 
has lived In an atmosphere of penitence, goodness, 
and preparation, and has the supreme act of will- 
ing self-surrender standing to his credit. 

Shooting having been indicated, I ought perhaps 
to mention that there was the crackle of continuous 
rifle fire In the foreground, so to speak, of our 
hearing, and the intermittent booming of shell fire 
in the background, with grenade explosions occur- 
ring every now and then In the middle distance. 

"And now," the Captain was presently saying, 
"you must be prepared for rather a gruesome sight." 

But a burial party had been busy since, on the 
previous afternoon, he last visited that spot; and 
no piteous relics of the dislodged enemy were to 
be seen. But we came to where a Sergeant, indi- 
cating an embankment of loose earth, said: 



174 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"There are three Germans in there, sir. What 
shall we do with them?" 

"Add more earth," directed the Captain, "and 
put up a temporary cross. That is all we can do 
at present." 

There had been much curving and turning in 
our course, and presently we came to a trench 
(running at right angles to the one we were travers- 
ing) of which the parapets were reduced to a shape- 
less disorder of crumpled clay. That trench would 
have afforded cover to a man only if he had crawled 
on his hands and knees — which, with the bottom cov- 
ered with several inches of water, would not have 
been an agreeable performance. 

"That," explained the Captain, "is the so-called 
'International' trench which was captured last 
week. It is not very much used at present during 
daylight." 

We cautiously advanced still farther along re- 
cently captured trenches until, sitting down on a 
piece of timber, and bidding me do likewise, the 
Captain pointed to a ridge of clay which obstructed 
our view, and said: 

"That is all there is between us and the Germans, 
who are not more than thirty yards away." 



CHAPTER XIV 
no-man's-land 

The soothing front line — Peeping over the parapet — Dead earth — 
Periscope pictures — Significant streaks of shadow — Tins and 
tatters — Military scavengers — Sunshine and a skylark — ^Tom- 
my's comforters — What the birds were saying — German trench- 
ing tools — Other interesting relics — Waterproof fire-lighters — 
Watching an aerial battle — The stricken plane — Back in the 
open — Barred by falling shells — The "burst" described — An 
inconvenient alternative. 

The Captain and I had the place to ourselves, and 
a more peaceful spot for a chat no one could desire. 
Nor is it easy to see why (unless through the opera- 
tion of some subtle law of paradox) one should have 
been visited, there of all places in the world, by a 
sense of almost sedative tranquillity. Less than a 
stone's throw away, with only a few barrow-loads 
of clay as an intervening shield, was the mighty 
Prussian military machine, which must be credited, 
no doubt, with an earnest abstract desire to kill, 
not only my military associate, but also my civilian 
self. On the other hand, there was I (very likely 
the Captain was in better case) unprovided with so 
much as an umbrella wherewith to defend myself; 
and I must confess to a momentary curiosity as to 
the probable course of events if that military ma- 
chine were suddenly to let loose its power and fury 

175 



176 SOULS IN KHAKI 

against us, or, at any rate, if some of its more 
venturesome spirits were to scramble on to the level 
or come vaulting over the afore-mentioned modest 
earthworks into our laps. 

"Ah!" said the smiling Captain, when I put the 
suggestion before him, "I only wish they would try 
it on." 

And having let slip the word "level," in allusion 
to that narrow belt of land occurring between the 
hostile front trenches, I must hasten to explain that, 
so far as surface conditions were concerned, no word 
could be more grossly inapplicable. 

Grass hillocks we know. Sand dunes we know. 
Ploughed land we know. But they reveal elements 
of symmetry and uniformity, and that fire-swept 
belt of No-Man's-Land was wholly unlike any of 
them. It had been smitten, crumpled, lashed, up- 
torn, and scarified by cascades of exploding shells, 
until its surface of lawless irregularity found no 
parallel in the aspect either of land in any accus- 
tomed condition or of water in any familiar state 
of disturbance, whether as a whirlpool, cataract, 
or tempestuous sea. It was a landscape desolate 
and dead, without leaf or grass-blade — Indeed, one 
could not but suppose that even the worms and seeds 
had been involved in the general doom. 

Mind you, I did not find out all this by peeping 
over the parapet. My survey was made more dis- 
creetly. 

Some fifty yards back we had come upon an of- 
ficer taking observations through a periscope, and 
he had courteously placed the instrument at my dis- 
posal. Thus I had my first vision of a paradoxical 



NO-MAN'S-LAND 17T 

region which, while it looks to be as lonely and empty 
as Crusoe's uninhabited isle, happens to be no less 
densely populated than a congested city. In that 
first revelation of the enemy's front, the only out- 
standing features were gaunt relics of trees that 
had been murdered and maimed. For the rest, it 
was a khaki-coloured foreground of clay in the cha- 
otic and blasted condition just alluded to— a tore- 
ground wherein the German advanced line was dis- 
tinguishable as a cutting that held a dark streak of 
shadow. Moreover, in front of that streak ot 
shadow was a squalid higgledy-piggledy of tins and 
tatters that had been flung over the parapet to get 
them out of the way— discarded articles that did 
not stand forth conspicuous by any. distinction ot 
colour or tone, but which, having been churned up 
with the landscape by high explosives, had become 
muddied over by the clay in which they were partly 

embedded. . , . ^ 

Not, however, that the image in the periscope 
enabled me to grasp all that detail. But a minute 
later, without the aid of reflectors, I saw on the 
other side of the trench, a belt of clay which, if not 
actually No-Man's-Land, had been No-Man s-Land 
eight days before, and had not since undergone 
alteration. At least, some trifling modification had 
now begun on the farther fringe, where a party ot 
Tommies were engaged, like scavengers on a dust 
shoot, in abstracting from the earth the muddiest 
of rags and nondescript oddments. That at any 
rate represents the impression made upon the eye 
by articles of equipment which had been buried by 



178 SOULS IN KHAKI 

bombardment, but which, it seemed, would be once 
more serviceable when cleaned and renovated. 

So much for what may be called the shady side 
of my impressions. Now for the sunshine. And, 
to begin with, the sun was literally shining out of 
a deep blue sky. But, more important, a lark floated 
overhead — and this was a fact that held my atten- 
tion — singing a leisurely full-throated carol. 

Strange, the trenches had been associated in one's 
mind merely with thoughts of tribulation, danger, 
and sudden death (under each of which heads I 
certainly had found ocular evidence) ; but when 
one arrived at the foremost trench of all, the dom- 
inant circumstance, because the circumstance mak- 
ing strongest appeal to one's senses, was that a sky- 
lark was blithely singing against the azure heavens. 

And such birds are constantly doing so, the Cap- 
tain told me. 

How nice for our happy-hearted lads in the 
trenches! Who could doubt that, by spiritual "wire- 
less," messages were passing from that bird to those 
boys? 

You will vainly scan official communiques for any 
mention of skylarks fluttering and fluting over the 
trenches, it being assumed, no doubt, that the pres- 
ence and utterances of those birds can have neither 
military nor political significance. Certain it is, 
however, that their presence and utterances make a 
strong appeal in the domain of human interest, which 
is wider than that of arms or politics. 

After the Captain and I had listened awhile in 
grateful silence, we resumed our exploration of the 
trench, and soon came to a party of lads and 



NO-MAN'S-LAND 179 

N.C.O.'s, several of whom, I noticed, stood with 
smiling, upturned faces, drinking In sunshine and 
the song of another lark, poised immediately above 
them. 

If the notes of such birds communicate a thrill in 
times of security and peace, how much greater the 
scope of their magic under opposite conditions. 
Think of the restricted opportunities of those who 
for our sakes live day after day In an underground 
prison, with little to look at but walls of clay and 
a sky either empty of variety or merely holding the 
remote interest of clouds. Then think how de- 
lighted those prisoners must be when In the void 
overhead a little bird comes and sings to them — a 
little minstrel-messenger from home. For to listen- 
ing Tommy the skylarks sing, not In French, but 
in the plainest of plain English. And their songs 
tell him about his home, his holidays, and the dear 
ones whose present and future security he Is safe- 
guarding. Nor do the birds confine themselves to 
those topics. They lift his thoughts to higher planes 
of consolation, and reiterate the assurance that, 
despite war and wounds, death and sorrow, all is 
well with the world. 

But presently my attention was called to the 
ground level. The Captain picked up, and handed 
to me, the trenching tool of a German soldier — a 
tool which, in size, was a compromise between a 
spade and a trowel, and which, besides being of 
no use as a pick, could not be carried so easily as 
the English tool made in two parts. That little 
alien spade, however, was noteworthy for its struc- 
tural strength, the sturdy ash handle being firmly 



180 SOULS IN KHAKI 

fixed in a double collar of steel, and the shoulders 
of the blade being of two fold thickness and heavily- 
riveted. 

"If you like," said the thoughtful Captain, "you 
can keep it as a souvenir." 

But my eager acquiescence was interrupted by a 
cheerful lad who, proffering me another German 
trenching tool, said: 

"Perhaps you would sooner have this one, as I 
think it is rather a better specimen." 

Nor was his judgment at fault. The handle, 
instead of being of uniform thickness throughout, 
ended in a knob (on which, by the way, the letter 
"W" had been roughly carved). 

I thanked the lad and profited by his friendly 
intervention. 

Rummaging about in the mud, the Captain and 
I afterwards found other articles that the former 
occupants of the trench had left behind them. 

One was a round metal box with a hinged lid, 
which, when open, disclosed fixed contents covered 
by wire gauze, suggesting that those contents were 
destined to be saturated with a fluid giving off 
fumes available either for heating or for healing. 
This mysterious little apparatus supplemented a 
mask, the Captain said, as a remedy against gas. 
From the interior, when at last I had succeeded in 
prising it out, there dripped a liquid which caused 
deep discoloration in a pool of muddy water. 

I was better able to appreciate the ingenuity 
shown in another contrivance of which we found 
several examples. I refer to German fire-lighters. 
Much rain had recently fallen, and the trenches 



NO-MAN'S-LAND Igl 

thereabouts held a quantity of water; so, instead 
of wrestling with the problem of how to keep their 
fuel dry, our foes had provided themselves with 
waterproof combustibles. Sticks saturated with 
bitumen, accompanied by strips of celluloid, were 
swathed in shavings, the whole being bound to- 
gether by a covering of wire netting. Such fuel 
could be in water one minute and in a blaze the 
next; and note that, instead of this inflammable 
bundle swiftly flaring away through falling apart, 
Its mechanical cohesion ensured slow combustion. 
Truly a bright idea. 

Suddenly my attention was recalled to regions 
aloft. A group of aeroplanes were in view, being 
attended, as usual, by those puffs of woolly white- 
ness that glow so prettily, like dainty little cumulus 
clouds. And here perhaps I may mention that the 
sight of such aircraft manoeuvring overhead, and 
apparently not caring twopence for the shells sent 
up after them, had been of daily occurrence — it 
would scarcely be an exaggeration to say, of hourly 
occurrence — during the succession of fine days I 
had spent at the Front; with the result that an 
exhibition which at first was fascinating enough, 
had by repetition lost the power to hold my atten- 
tion. True, a brisker interest was always stimu- 
lated when, instead of shells, opposition took the 
form of rival planes; and the air battle under con- 
sideration swiftly developed that character. 

No schoolboy could have been more interested 
than was my friend the Captain. He brought his 
glasses to bear on the affair, and was soon making 
noteworthy discoveries. 



182 SOULS IN KHAKI 

"That's a fine machine just coming up," he was 
presently exclaiming. "How wide the wings are, 
and what a pace she is going at! Have a look at 
her;" and most obligingly he handed me his 
glasses. 

Making conscientious efforts to get that machine 
into the field of vision, I soon had a delightful sur- 
prise, and could not refrain from exclaiming: 

"How prettily her wings are fluttering! And she 
is remaining quite stationary!" 

"What!" exclaimed the Captain. 

But I had happened upon the skylark, which was 
still singing joyously, air-fight or no air-fight. 

Yet not for long could the civilian share the sky- 
lark's detached standpoint. 

"Ha!" cried the Captain, "she's hit! Do you 
see? That fine British plane heading right in among 
the Boches. Look! she has turned. It was splendid 
audacity, but I feared she would pay the penalty. 
She's a long way across the lines, unfortunately. 
Badly hit, apparently. See how quickly she's falling. 
Hard lines. She'll never be able to get back. Yet 
I don't know — perhaps there's just a chancel" 

Those around us were exclaiming in unison with 
the Captain — hopes and fears alternating in each 
breast. A novel sensation was involved in watching 
those thrilling hazards in the constricted position 
our situation necessitated. It was almost a case of 
looking up with one's head ducked. For we were 
at a part of the trench where the parapet was low. 
To stand erect on gazing aloft (as was the natural 
impulse) would be, humanly speaking, to court a 
death-dealing wound in the head. So we all had 



NO-MAN'S-LAND 183 

perforce to maintain a stooping or squatting posture 
while following the fortunes of the aeroplane. 

Its angle of descent had carried it far from the 
other flying machines. 

"Ha! she's done it!" exclaimed the Captain as 
the wounded plane slid out of sight. "She'll land 
on our side after all!" 

Whereupon, bidding farewell to friends of a few 
thrilling moments, he and I continued our return 
journey through the trenches, from which we 
eventually emerged at the place of our original en- 
trance- 
Two minutes later, while we were recrosslng the 
ugly stretch of open country that had the pretty 
name, something happened which, though it must 
have been a commonplace and humdrum incident in 
those parts, interested me not a little. 

To certain grating noises overhead I should no 
doubt have been paying more attention had the Cap- 
tain's conversation made less claim on my attention. 
As it was, the thought of shells was entirely absent 
from my mind when one burst less than a hundred 
yards ahead of us. 

For me the occurrence presented three aspects of 
special interest. Firstly, my imagination was fas- 
cinated by the fact that the explosion had taken 
place directly In our path — that in a few moments 
our footsteps would have been In the midst of the 
boisterous upheaval our eyes had just witnessed. 

In the second place, my attention was engaged 
by the nature of that upheaval. I saw a huge, black, 
circular, up-pouring of smoke and (definitely visible) 
earth. On a sudden, under pressure of the explo- 



184. SOULS IN KHAKI 

sion, the ground had become fluid. That was the 
striking fact — soil and sub-soil rose in jets and foun- 
tains. The shell had gone splashing into solids. 

Thirdly, I realised at a gasp that, if one's material 
self were amid that violent escape of upward-flying 
force, not so much as a waistcoat button would be 
likely to remain as a recognisable relic. 

As we stood watching the peaceful spot where 
that commotion had just occurred, another shell 
fell in much the same place, and again there was a 
huge cascade of mould, clay, grass, and roots. 

"Bah I" exclaimed the Captain; and I was sur- 
prised at the note of petulance. *'We want to get 
by there.'' 

"Can't we go round another way?" I ventured. 
"Or wait till the shells stop coming?" 

"Wait till they stop!" cried the Captain. "Not 
unless we want to lose our lunch I" 

"But what is the idea in dropping them there?" 
I asked, beginning in turn to feel rather cross with 
certain unknown German artillerymen. 

"You see that bit of an old barn over there?" 
(I duly took note of a crumpled hillock of tiles, 
rafters, and brickwork.) "Well, they've got an idea 
that it masks a British battery, though as a matter 
of fact there isn't a gun anywhere near. I've heard 
of our fellows being pulled up like this before," 
he indignantly added. 

Fortunately there were Tommies within hail, and, 
on being appealed to by the Captain, they indicated 
an alternative route by which we could reach our 
destination. 

Whereupon we turned off at a tangent, and were 



NO-MAN'S-LAND 185 

soon treading duck boards which, by reason of their 
quaking foundation and slimy surface, afforded a 
foothold that was doubly treacherous. So one had 
to exercise a vigilant caution at every step. 

Thud! A third shell went exploding into niother 
earth; and I appealed to the Captain — was it fair 
for them to go on firing when we could not possibly 
look round to see? 

The Captain's guffaw did not smother the sound 
of a fourth explosion. 

And so it went on. The Germans were making 
a mistake, but they were making it thoroughly. 



CHAPTER XV 

UNDER SHELL FIRE 

An Easter reminder — My Yorkshire guide: typical unselfishness — 
A treat for stranded aviators — Ypres in a new aspect — Shell 
holes galore: a landscape with the smallpox — Watching a frog 
— The foundered biplane — Projectiles en route: streaks of 
grating noise — Bursting shells — Our narrow escape — Waiting 
at the roadside: a trying experience — The deafening British 
battery — Mysterious absence of a limber — Dodging the shells: 
a lad's startling manoeuvre — Tranquil Tommies — Our tramp 
along the road — Bad language: an exceptional experience — 
Welcome eggs and chips. 

In that landscape of blasted vegetation I chanced 
to espy, against a stream behind some dug-outs, a 
sapling willow having branches aglow with golden 
catkins. And when he saw me plucking a button- 
hole, the Captain cut a bunch to take back to the 
Colonel. 

But I was not destined to sit at a palm-decked 
table. 

In our absence, It appeared, the wires had been 
asking me questions. 

The motor car having broken down, would I mind 
returning from Brigade Headquarters on horseback? 
That was the delayed Interrogation that first de- 
manded attention. 

A poor horseman, with no recent experience in 

1 86 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 187 

the saddle, I was not drawn to the Idea of being 
Inconveniently perched with my luggage on the back 
of some mettlesome quadruped, particularly as burst- 
ing shells might cause the sensitive creature to plunge 
and uprear. So my answer was an Inquiry whether 
Brigade Headquarters could make any alternative 
suggestion; which was replied to in the further ques- 
tion — Would I object to journeying on a limber? 

Having received the assurance that, so far from 
objecting, I should be proud to find myself on such 
a vehicle. Brigade Headquarters flashed me the final 
request: Would I mind returning with all con- 
venient speed? 

So, having taken a hearty farewell of the Colonel, 
the Captain, and my other kind hosts, I soon found 
myself proceeding once more over the ground with 
which, in Its moonlight aspect, I had become familiar 
enough over-night. But I am not able to say what 
projectiles were this time passing through the at- 
mosphere, my attention being fully engaged with 
the young Yorkshire lad who acted as escort and 
carried my bag. 

Obviously in obedience to orders, he insisted on 
rapid walking. For the rest, his mind yielded pleas- 
ant confirmation of the human evidence on which 
I had already happened. Quiet and thoughtful in 
manner, he was soon dumbfounding me with surely 
the prettiest little speeches that a soldier boy ever 
addressed to a civilian senior. 

It seemed he considered it meritorious that a 
person who had outgrown the period of early man- 
hood, and upon whom accordingly there rested no 
obligation of military service, should have volun- 



188 SOULS IN KHAKI 

tarily entered the area of discomfort and peril. 
Young chaps, he held, were in an altogether differ- 
ent position, because — apart from the fact that it 
was their duty to defend the Empire — they naturally 
found in the war a congenial outlet for their strength, 
vigour, and high spirits. 

The obvious blemish in this argument, of course, 
was that he could not possibly be enjoying his stay 
at the Front more than I was enjoying my visit 
there; but before opportunity served for this to 
be pointed out, he drew from his pocket the bat- 
tered nose of a German shell and diffidently asked 
me if I would like it. My answer was an eager 
affirmative, coupled with the statement that I was 
wanting to buy such things as souvenirs; to which 
he replied that he could not sell me any, but that 
I need not hesitate to accept the one he offered, as 
he could easily get another. 

From which we see that this lad soared above his 
material conditions and figured as an attractive and 
a gracious personality; for a person's nobility is 
ever in proportion as he is solicitous for the interests 
of others and indifferent to his own. It may be, of 
course, that he was such a one as, in former times 
of peace, would have been equally concerned to 
please and benefit a complete stranger thrown for 
a few minutes into his company; but at any rate 
his mental attitude was, so far as my own experience 
went, typical of our lads at the Front, whom I every- 
where found arrayed in the splendour of unselfish- 
ness, and with a smile upon their lips. 

At Brigade Headquarters I was received by the 
young officer who had previously dealt with me. He 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 189 

counselled speed In the readjustment of my lug- 
gage, since it was important that I should arrive 
by one o'clock at an indicated part of a specified 
road, when and where, it seemed, the limber would 
await me. 

"It's a shame, though," he was presently remark- 
ing, "that you cannot stay to lunch, as you would 
meet a couple of airmen who have just been driven 
down." 

"In a biplane, half an hour ago?" I eagerly in- 
quired. 

"Yes; there was a big scrap. Did you see It?" 

I told him how some of us had a splendid view 
from the Bluff. 

"Then you must spare a moment to come and 
be introduced," insisted the young officer; and, en- 
tering the apartment where lunch was set, I found 
two beaming young aviators warming themselves be- 
fore a fire. 

"Hurt? Not a bit of it," one was soon assuring 
me. "A small scratch — that's all." 

I explained how Interested we had been in the 
encounter, and how much we deplored their bad 
luck. 

"Our good luck, more like it!" chimed In the 
other aerial adventurer. "Why, we got the informa- 
tion we went for; our machine Is not hurt; we're all 
right; and" (here he turned smilingly to the on- 
looking subalterns), "they've promised, now we're 
here, to let us have a look at the trenches — which 
is just what we've been wanting to do for a long 
time. So we reckon we're jolly lucky." 

And so, indeed, they were, though not till some 



190 SOULS IN KHAKI 

ten minutes later was I in a position fully to appre- 
ciate their good fortune. 

Meanwhile the young officer had sent me forth 
with two scouts, who carried my belongings between 
them. 

In one direction lay Ypres. We started off in 
another, but not before our glimpse of the city had 
impressed a new image upon my mind. 

In the bright sunshine, walls, roofs, and towers 
looked clean, new, and conspicuous. And yet, 
strangely enough, the city's distinctness was a proof 
of its doom. There was no chimney smoke to dim 
the atmosphere; and a city of cold chimneys is neces- 
sarily a dead city. Moreover, an occasional shell- 
burst over the houses supplied the imagination with 
a further clue to the uninhabited condition of Ypres. 

Not that the German artillery was by any means 
confining its attention to the city. 

We were crossing a field that was pitted with 
shell holes of various sizes, many containing water. 
Stopping beside a cluster of them, I saw a little 
frog clamber out of one round swimming bath, and, 
after traversing a few intervening inches of dry land, 
plunge into another. It seemed a pathetically risky 
place for a poor little unsuspecting yellow frog to 
be taking amphibious exercise in. 

But the boys did not encourage natural history 
observations. We had only a quarter of an hour, 
they pointed out, in which to reach our rendezvous; 
and they were agreed that, if we failed to be there 
to time, the limber would be unlikely to wait for 
us. On demurring to this view, I was informed 
that the section of road to which we were bound 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 191 

was, because so frequently shelled, unpopular with 
the drivers of vehicles. 

On we went again across an area which suggested 
peaceful sylvan scenery and the infernal regions, 
intimately mixed. Trees and hedges were broken 
and shorn, and everywhere the ground was disfig- 
ured by craters — a land with the smallpox. Nor 
must It be assumed that the bombardment of that 
locality was a mere affair of the past. It was also 
an affair of the present. 

The reader will remember that high explosives 
had been brought under my personal notice earlier 
in the day. Opportunity was now afforded for a 
closer study, in various interesting aspects, of the 
dangerous contrivances which rival nations see fit 
to discharge at one another. Indeed, shells and 
their ways made so strong a claim on my attention 
that when, in a little space surrounded by trees, we 
beheld a great biplane at rest, I spared only a pass- 
ing thought to the airman's cause for gratitude in 
having achieved, amid those encircling perils, a safe 
landing. 

We could see shells (as occasionally they burst 
in the air away to the right or the left), and — 
which came to be by far the more impressive ex- 
perience — we could hear them travelling. One can 
express it not otherwise than that they were pass- 
ing overhead in straight lines of sound — in straight, 
harsh, grating lines of sound. The din suggested 
thunder, except that claps do not follow definite 
tracks. It further suggested a magnified version of 
the process of moving furniture in a room upstairs, 
except that bedstead and wardrobe do not betray 



^m SOULS IN KHAKI 

an even momentum sustained over miles of progress. 
For note that, not only did the sound of a hurtling 
shell assume the character of a line, but that line 
revealed itself in perspective. You distinctly heard 
the invisible projectile coming from far away, jour- 
neying noisily overhead and continuing onward with 
fading audibility. Sometimes one heard two pro- 
ceeding along parallel routes. 

Shells were going in both directions (for not only 
was the enemy firing at us, but we were firing at 
the enemy), and every now and then they could 
be heard passing one another. Also, the German 
shells came from different directions (for we were 
inside a salient), their routes seeming to converge 
a little way ahead of us. There came, indeed, to 
be a skein of invisible lines of noise in the heavens. 

On the concluding stage of our walk we saw 
shells bursting above a shattered homestead, some 
hundred yards or so to our left. Over Ypres on 
our right we also saw the pretty puffs of woolli- 
ness. But most of the shells travelled beyond our 
ken. 

As, two minutes ahead of appointed time, we 
drew near to the road, I found a double claim on 
my attention. 

"No sign of any limber!" remarked one of the 
lads; and indeed the roadway was empty. 

"H'm!" murmured the other lad, as he glanced 
over his shoulder, "it's just as well we've got past 
there." 

Between the two remarks there had been a re- 
sounding explosion, and I turned in time to sec the 
black smoke that came from a shell-burst. But the 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 19S 

point of interest was that the explosion had oc- 
curred only about eighty yards behind us, on ground 
we were traversing a minute before. 

A quiet smile played on the face of the lad who 
had noted the explosion. The other lad continued 
to be interested in the non-arrival of my limber. 
He opined (and his comrade agreed) that it would 
soon appear. 

Then we began patiently waiting by the side of 
the road. 

A quarter of an hour later we were still waiting 
there, if less patiently. In the meantime there had 
been certain developments. 

For one thing, the space over our heads had to 
an increasing degree been striated with streaks of 
grating sound, and several shells had exploded within 
sight. For another thing, a British battery had 
opened fire a little way up the road. 

After the first deafening roar, there hung in the 
air a gigantic ring of smoke. 

"That's given away the position," deplored one 
of my companions (and, indeed, hostile aircraft had 
but recently been visible). The battery continued 
at Intervals to emit shells and uproar (though no 
more rings), and thus the coming of retaliating 
projectiles in our vicinity might be expected. 

The situation was something worse than unsat- 
isfactory. To shift our ground would be to risk 
missing the limber; besides, there did not seem much 
to choose, so far as grim possibilities were concerned, 
between one spot and another. I also felt debarred 
from moving off altogether, because my destina- 
tion was a town several miles away, and to jour- 



194 SOULS IN KHAKI 

ney there on foot, carrying so much baggage, was 
too heroic an undertaking for me to enter upon 
alone. Nor had I any right to enlist the two lads 
into such an enterprise. As it was, my conscience 
smote me for the plight in which I had unwittingly 
involved them. For, as bad luck would have it, 
they had been on the point of sitting down to din- 
ner when their services were requisitioned on my be- 
half. Both went on smiling and chatting with sus- 
tained serenity; but full well I knew that two such 
strong and healthy young fellows, following so 
strenuous an open-air existence, would have a zest 
for their meals, and must now be suffering pangs of 
hunger. Truth to tell, sensations nearer home as- 
sisted my insight into the case of those lads. For 
circumstances had also defrauded me of my lunch. 

It was the one occasion when the danger affected 
me with a feeling of distaste and apprehension. But 
this emotion was closely associated with a resent- 
ment of the state of inertia to which the non-arrival 
of the limber condemned me. It had been easy, 
nay exhilarating, to walk and drive amid perils; 
but to be standing passive so long in such a situation, 
and to feel oneself left in the lurch, with no means 
of escape, proved another matter altogether. It 
was trying to the nerves. I itched to be on the 
move. 

Amid numerous conjectures as to why the limber 
had failed us, a prominent place was taken by the 
misgiving that, falling into a common error, the 
driver might be awaiting us half a mile farther on, 
at a bend in the road frequently confused with the 
bend where we were stationed. 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 195 

One boy at last went off to put this supposition 
to the proof. But half an hour later he returned 
shaking his head. It seemed he had seen no sign 
of any limber. 

"All I saw," he smilingly explained, "was a wheel 
lying in a ditch" ; and indeed by this time a hypoth- 
esis finding some favour was that a shell had pre- 
vented the limber keeping its appointment. 

But, however that might be, I had had about 
enough of standing inert under that canopy of trav- 
elling and bursting projectiles; the exhaustion of 
my patience having no doubt been assisted by a little 
incident that occurred while the lad was gone on 
his vain quest. 

Suddenly the other boy, with whom I had been 
enjoying the most placid of chats, was possessed 
by a spirit of feverish activity. Out flew his hands 
against the stump of a telegraph pole beside which 
we stood. With a wild leap he swung half way 
round the black wooden column. Then he crouched 
to earth. 

Nor had I been in any doubt as to the meanmg 
of this manoeuvre. It, however, found me unpre- 
pared. My companion was, indeed, up and apologis- 
ing while I still hesitated about following his ex- 
ample. 

These and other lads had told me that, after a 
few weeks' experience under fire, one can hear if a 
shell be about to come down in one's vicinity. The 
ear detects a lessening of its pace, and there is an in- 
creasing volume of sound, as it curves earthward 
so, at least, I understood my informants to con- 
tend, though the explanation did not very obviously 



196 SOULS IN KHAKI 

harmonise with another piece of Instruction forth- 
coming at the Front: namely, that a shell travels 
more quickly than does the sound it makes in travel- 
ling. However, the force of an explosion being 
outward and upward, certainly the bystander, if 
he hear a shell coming, Is well advised to exchange 
a perpendicular for a horizontal attitude. 

Of course It sometimes happens, as In the case 
under consideration, that a shell will continue on its 
course after provision has been made, in the man- 
ner Indicated, for its arrival on earth. But if my 
companion's misgiving proved ill-founded, at least 
he succeeded in making me jump, and in strengthen- 
ing my disinclination any longer to remain inactive 
under fire. 

Before, however, stating what further befell us, 
I would like to mention one additional fact belong- 
ing to our two hours' sojourn by the roadside. 

Every now and then Tommies would move across 
that shell-swept zone — ^Tommies In twos and fours 
and sixes. And how, I wonder, does the reader 
picture them? 

They might have been moving with precipitancy, 
their manner revealing anxiety or perturbation. 
They might have been swinging along and demon- 
strating their contempt of danger by words of rib- 
aldry or scoffing. They might have been advanc- 
ing, with bent brows and set lips, oppressed by a 
sense of impending doom. But they were doing 
none of these things. 

As with my two companions, and with all the 
other lads I had met at the Front, tranquillity was 
their chief characteristic. They were walking softly 



UNDER SHELL FIRE 197 

and talking quietly, their faces reflecting not merely 
composure but complacency. Under no other cir- 
cumstances can I conceive, among so many men and 
lads, such a sustained level of placidity. It was not 
a case of familiarity with danger having bred in- 
difference. Their constant watchfulness, and the 
care with which they chose the most sheltered routes, 
proved them by no means forgetful of their peril; 
but the remembrance found them calm and content. 

And now to continue. 

Our programme left much to chance when we 
started on our tramp, with my two cheery com- 
panions carrying all the luggage. For half an hour 
it was our fate to journey along shell-smitten roads, 
all the time drawing farther away from the German 
artillery. Indeed, we presently arrived in a favoured 
region where no exploding shells were audible. And 
here I had a remarkable experience. 

At cross-roads (where it seemed not unreason- 
able to hope for a stray ammunition waggon going 
my way) we sat on a bench in company with a youth- 
ful Tommy who, as I inferred, was stationed within 
contiguous skeleton walls, which had no doubt once 
formed part of a commodious estaminet. He was 
talking on some matter of minor importance, when 
into one of his remarks he surprised me by intro- 
ducing an oath. 

The power to astonish was due to the novelty. 
It was my first and last experience of bad language 
at the Front. 

I took occasion to ask the boy when he last saw 
a shell explode. 

"Fritz put over a couple into that field," he re- 



198 SOULS IN KHAKI 

plied, Indicating a torn and ragged meadow, "three 
days ago. There's been nothing doing since." 

Anon we were once more trudging along the road, 
soon to arrive in a village which, though shells had 
damaged most of the houses they had not destroyed, 
still retained a portion of its civil population. One 
battered house-front bore the attractive legend, 
"Eggs and Chips"; and presently we three joined 
several Tommies in a dingy little public parlour, 
where each of us received a liberal serving of the 
advertised food, supplemented by slabs of bread 
and mugs of indifferent coffee. 

The proprietor (whose charges were unexpectedly 
modest) abode on the premises with his wife and 
five children; and while feeling personally indebted 
to him for remaining at his place of business, I 
could not help wishing that he had dispatched his 
family to a safer locality. 

The discovery of that roadside victualler marked 
the turning point of my fortunes, for on emerging 
from his establishment, we happened upon a little 
military cart going whither I was bound. 

The driver made me welcome to a seat by his 
side, and, having bidden the two lads a reluctant 
farewell, I surrendered myself to the good whole- 
some bumping that preceded my return to civilisa- 
tion and the Press officer. 



CHAPTER XVI 

SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 

War Office brotherliness— Colonel Bate's hospital— Effective treat- 
ment of war-worn soldiers— The registration of British graves 
Testing the records— Pressed flowers in an official envelope — 
The tenderness of militarism— An interview at G.H.Q.— The 
General's reproof— Adventures at La Bassee— Smiles and snip- 
ing—An incident in a crater— Attached to a Public Schools 
battalion— My orderly and his pathetic experiences— A Stepney 
boy— Horseplay arrested by hymns— A Cockney climbing the 
Golden Stairs— "I know that His arms are round me." 

Could the comparison be Instituted, as a matter 
of personal experience, between the great wars of 
past days and the greater war of our own time, 
perhaps the modern development to excite most 
remark would be, not man's hostilities up amid the 
clouds and down among the fishes, but the new lati- 
tude allowed in army organisation to the principle 
of humanity. 

Of the great Salvation Army huts— those wooden 
temples of rest and refreshment for body and^ soul 

the reader has already been afforded some idea; 

and here let me say that if in the crowded huts of 
our training camps at home. Tommy showed a zest 
for honest food values and for a helpful spiritual 
atmosphere, such appreciation was even keener m 

199 



SOO SOULS IN KHAKI 

the still more crowded huts of the campaign camps 
abroad. 

But my most inspiring experience In this connec- 
tion was to find the Salvation Army spirit — practical 
organised brotherliness — guiding the administration 
of two War Office institutions which, pending ar- 
rangements for my return to the firing line, I visited 
from General Headquarters. 

Many unwounded soldiers become unfit for duty 
through general causes, and Colonel Bate, given the 
task of providing for their special needs, found him- 
self tackling a piece of pioneer work. For modem 
trench warfare creates its own therapeutic problems, 
and the South African campaign had bequeathed him 
no useful guidance. 

Colonel Bate went to work with a disused distil- 
lery, several acres of adjoining land, an assortment 
of outhouses, a capacity for conquering difficulties, 
and the belief that nothing is too good for Tommy. 

At the date of my visit he had already treated 
35,000 patients, and of those broken and useless sol- 
diers 70 per cent, had returned to their regiments 
mended and (compared with new arrivals at the 
Front) of double value. 

"For," explained the Colonel, "a man accustomed 
to the trenches is twice as useful as an inexperienced 
man." 

Each patient stays a fortnight in the Institution, 
of which, before inspecting the interior, I visited 
the entrance and the exit. At the former some Lon- 
don motor omnibuses had just arrived with freights 
of pale, dirty, tottery, war-worn invalids. At the 



SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 201 

latter a company of healthy, hearty, and spruce sol- 
diers were taking their leave. 

On emerging from warm baths, the Colonel's 
guests receive new clothing and effective treatment 
for skin troubles; after which their teeth and their 
feet are seen to. Restful sleep in comfortable beds; 
nourishing and attractive meals; facilities for mental 
and physical recreation — such are general features 
of the treatment. Dentistry alone represents a huge 
department, and I found an army of artificers at 
work on false teeth. A specially constructed cinema, 
seating an audience of 400 persons, is adaptable as 
a church on Sundays, the choir-end being partitioned 
off on week-days as an ever-open shrine for prayer 
and meditation. 

Finally, the patient Is freshly and fully equipped 
from head to heel, so that, renewed within and 
without, he leaves Colonel Bate's hospital without 
an ache in his body, a hole in his socks, or a speck 
on his rifle. 

The grateful lads are ever eager to make some 
return for the kindness shown them. Gardener pa- 
tients keep the flower borders in excellent trim. Rep- 
resentatives of other trades and callings render ex- 
pert services after their kind. The tinsmiths make 
souvenirs for the Colonel to bestow on his visitors. 
I received a serviette-ring made (down to the very 
solder used In joining It) out of a biscuit tin. 

In the other institution — that concerned with the 
care and registration of British graves in France 
and Belgium — human sympathy was seen also to be 
exercising a widespread healing influence. Here 
again aims had to suggest methods with little as- 



202 SOULS IN KHAKI 

sistance from precedents; and circumstances enabled 
me to test and appreciate the efficiency of an organi- 
sation which, with an historic old chateau for Its 
headquarters, has grown under the creative skill of 
Lieutenant-Colonel Weir. 

In one department, I indicated the graves (among 
those on my Salvation Army list) that I had been 
unable to find, and at once the precise situation was 
revealed in every case save one, which was reported 
as within the German lines. 

So far — the Colonel told me — 47,000 graves had 
been visited and 53,000 registered, while 100 men 
and 38 motor cars were employed on the work. 

"Searching for graves within the zone of fire," 
continued the Colonel, "is, of course, hazardous 
work, and only yesterday, I grieve to say, one of my 
most valued assistants was killed while on duty in 
the Ypres salient. He was a fine fellow and abso- 
lutely devoted to his work, which had been concerned 
more particularly with the cemetery at Bethune. So 
we have arranged that he shall be laid to rest there 
— which I am sure would have been his own wish. 

"You will have noticed," the Colonel was pres- 
ently adding, "that the men have small white crosses, 
while the creosoted pine-wood crosses put over offi- 
cers' graves are larger, and that the two classes are 
kept apart. Officers have been objecting to this 
practice. They say they would prefer to be burled 
among their men, and that the Idea of a superior 
memorial is repugnant to them. So we are propos- 
ing to do away with the differential treatment." 

The work had only recently commenced, but there 
had already been several thousand inquiries as to the 



SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 203 

location and condition of graves, of which 2,000 pho- 
tographs had been dispatched to bereaved kinsfolk. 

"The British Red Cross Society," Colonel Weir 
explained, "puts aside £50 a week to defray the 
cost of the photographs and of planting flowers on 
the graves, and In the latter part of our work we 
have recently been helped by the assistant director 
of Kew Gardens." 

In one department of the old chateau I found a 
number of cartographers making large-scale plans 
of cemeteries within range of the hostile artillery, 
every grave being Indicated in its precise situation. 
If, therefore (and experience had prompted the pre- 
caution), one of those burial-grounds were after- 
wards to be bombarded and its surface-marks oblit- 
erated, their accurate replacement would prove easy. 

Elsewhere I chanced to espy a glowing sheet of 
bloom — crosses, wreaths, and other floral emblems, 
all labelled and grouped in readiness for dispatch 
in motor cars to various parts of Northern France 
and South-west Belgium. 

But the Colonel was troubled at this accidental 
discovery of mine. 

"That," he hastened to explain, "lies outside our 
scope. Our primary duty is to find, identify, and 
mark the graves, and that duty taxes the energies 
of our limited staff. We cannot undertake the plac- 
ing of tokens on the graves, and the public must 
not be encouraged to believe that we can. As for 
those you saw, they have been provided in ignorance 
of our inability to do that work; but — well, I dare 
say our officers In these cases will find time to lay 
them on the graves." 



204 SOULS IN KHAKI 

And in this connection I cannot forbear from 
mentioning an incident that has since come within 
my personal knowledge. It was a case of the kind 
just Indicated — namely, where the Bureau, as a spe- 
cial concession, conveyed a young widow's tokens to 
the sacred destination, afterwards writing to tell her 

that this had been done by "Captain , who, with 

his usual consideration, has forwarded the enclosed 
flowers which he found growing on the grave" ; and 
the official letter contained a little packet of care- 
fully pressed and preserved primula blooms. 

Where will you easily find the parallel of that 
spirit — outside the Salvation Army, the Churches, 
and such Institutions as the Y.M.C.i\. (which has 
won so splendid a prominence In the war) ? 

"The arrogance and ruthlessness of militarism" 
— for many years I have accepted that orthodox 
political thought as a truism. It suggests a self- 
evident proposition, and seems a mere matter of 
logic and common sense. Champions of militarism 
have let it pass with an acquiescent shrug — nay, some 
have accepted ruthlessness. If not as a virtue, at any 
rate as a beneficial force. In my experience. Indeed, 
the thought has gone entirely unconfuted — except at 
last by the facts. 

At the Front I found only the reverse of arro- 
gance and ruthlessness. Get at close quarters with 
the machine, see It actually at work — and behold the 
tenderness of militarism. 

Following my visits to the firing zone, a General 
In high command at G.H.Q. asked me what had 
chiefly Impressed me along the lines. 

"Our men," I told him. 



SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 205 

"Yes," he replied with a smile, "wondertul, aren't 
they? Quite amazing. Why, I thought I knew the 
British soldier before this war broke out, but since 
then he has again and again been a new revelation 
to me. But tell me, what has surprised you most 
in the British soldier as you have seen him out here?" 

"His spirituality," was my reply. "By which I 
mean, his sense of the Unseen — his reliance on the 
Unseen — the peaceful outlook of his mind as he 
stands indifferent amid material dangers." 

"But," replied the General, a trifle sternly, "surely 
you need not have been surprised at that. How 
could it be otherwise? We soldiers on a campaign 
are right up against death. The near view, of course, 
gives a new distinctness to what lies beyond." 

As he spoke, I felt ashamed of the surprise to 
which it had been necessary to confess. A thousand 
apologies to our splendid men of all ranks. Wc 
self-centred civilians, careless In our sense of se- 
curity, are apt to sec only remote shadows where the 
self-sacrificing soldier, standing at attention, sees 
rock-like realities. 

All my experience at the Front pointed that way. 
Indeed, this fact renders superfluous a detailed ac- 
count of further adventures under fire. 

As I went creeping with ducked head along front 
trenches at La Bassec, dodging round the brick- 
stacks and stepping gingerly into mine craters, my 
guide was a young Intelligence Captain, whose face 
wore a bright smile, which faded not even as we 
wriggled through dank channels cut in the clay, or 
squeezed along a narrow passage where one could 
feel bullets striking the other side of sandbags that 



206 SOULS IN KHAEl 

our hands and limbs were touching. And the scores 
and scores of men and lads we passed — their de- 
meanour also bore witness to fraternity, a supreme 
composure, and an indifference to self. Neither by 
word nor look was there hint of repugnance, impa- 
tience, or self-pity — emotions which, perils apart, 
would not have lacked justification. 

They slept and took their meals in muddy holes, 
did those defenders of European freedom and the 
British Empire; and their heavy clothing — nay, in 
places their very flesh — was caked with dirt. 

What glorious grime ! For others' sake, and at 
duty's call, Britain's sons were not only risking their 
lives (which, after all, is a clean, wholesome, and re- 
spectable thing to do), but cheerfully incurring ver- 
min; and that is patriotism of a more subtle excel- 
lence. 

But the kindly human note — that is what I fain 
would reveal to the reader. It was the more pro- 
nounced the closer we came to war's grim affairs. 

My gracious young Captain heard grenades ex- 
ploding in craters fot which he was heading; so 
we loitered in a length of trench where sniping 
chanced to be the paramount military interest. 

An officer had just had the top of his periscope 
shot away; and there was something very like a 
blush on his jolly-looking round face as he described 
the incident. At another point (where we were most 
politely asked to duck our heads) a German sniper 
was in the habit, it seemed, of taking one carefully 
selected opportunity every day — never more, lest his 
situation should be detected; for rival snipers in 
the trenches are ever waiting and watching, if haply 



SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY SOTf 

they may spy one another's loop-holes. Which 
things were told me in the gentlest of accents. ^ 

And when, some half-hour later, we arrived in 
the craters, and a courteous officer was showing us 
round, I was less impressed by the newly made gre- 
nade holes than by his friendly urbanity, which only 
took on a shade of gravity when a Sergeant stepped 
up to him, and, with a quiet dignity, reported: 

"Lieutenant Ward has just been shot in Gallery 

2, sir." ^ ^ . . 

"A serious wound?" the officer turned to inquire. 
"I think not, sir," replied the messenger, and, sa- 
luting, he quietly withdrew. Then we resumed our 
chat about the different behaviour of various kinds 
of grenades— a subject on which, as it happened, 1 
had already received a good deal of enlightenment. 
Attached to a Public Schools battalion on the pre- 
vious day, I had for my orderly a Manchester lad 
who had had three chums fatally stricken by rifle 
grenades, and he told me all about it. Moreover 
after dinner some subalterns and the doctor supplied 
me, out of their recent experience, with fully as much 
supplementary information on the subject as, in view 
of my impending visit to the trenches, 1 cared to 

receive. 

Not indeed that I would willingly have forgone 
those tragic, and indeed ghastly, disclosures, for they 
served once more to show how marvellously our 
lads are upheld amid the trials and horrors of war. 

That gentle-nurtured lad (he had been a choir- 
boy in Manchester Cathedral) practically beheld 
three old school chums leave this world, m rapid 
succession, and under the appalling conditions of a 



SOS SOULS IN KHAKI 

projectile striking and shattering each familiar and 
beloved face. 

"I saw one of them actually hit," said the boy 
softly. "That was my friend Teddy — an awfully 
decent chap. He and I were just about the same 
age, and we were always pretty thick at school. We 
got moved together from one form to another; and 
now Teddy has — has gone away." 

His eyes were shining, but not with grief. We 
comfortable folk in civil life, saturated with unap- 
preciated blessings, not seldom lapse into ungrate- 
ful faithlessness. The light on his countenance 
showed how far Teddy's friend was from commit- 
ting that blunder. He spoke of Teddy, not as of a 
being who had ceased to exist, but rather as one 
who had passed into enduring security. 

Those Public School boys — what splendidly un- 
selfish young soldiers they make! For through one 
I came to have little personal glimpses of several — 
including the Hon. This and Lord That, proud 
to be doing groom's work in the British Army; and 
Charlie Blank, who was acting as sentry under the 
window of his inseparable college chum. Captain 
Willie So-and-So. 

But in testifying to the splendid unselfishness of 
our Public School boys, I am far from attributing 
that condition to their social status. Class distinc- 
tions have no influence in the war area — that en- 
trance zone to the Kingdom of Heaven. After leav- 
ing Eton and Mill Hill, I passed, at the Front, to 
Poplar and Stepney. 

With a head like a plum-pudding (because of its 
roundness and the freckled face), Bugler Chandler 



SPIRITUAL SUPREMACY 209 

was doubly interesting as an old Barnardo boy and 
an enthusiastic Salvationist. When his battalion ar- 
rived in the firing line, forty of them (including a 
rough, tough group addicted to horseplay) were 
quartered in the remains of a farmhouse on La 
Bassee Road. 

"They were all in one room," said Chandler, 
"and they started a-bombardin' one another — stones, 
jabbin' with rifles, and some playin' about with the 
bayernit. Seein' it was Sunday, I come in for my 
share. Somebody catched me one with a big brick." 

But the plum-pudding was a picture of cheerful 
forgiveness. 

"Well, in the roadway jest outside I see a Step- 
ney chap — name o' Smith — wot was a Westleyan. 
So I goes to him and says, 'Come on,' I says; 'let's 
'old a mectin'.' 'Right you are,' he says; and when 
we'd gorn back, I gets up on a biscuit-tin and gives 
out, 

" 'My Jesus, I love you, 
I know Thou art mine.' 

I've got 'alf a tidy voice, bein' noted for it." 

As the round, honest, glowing face testified. 
Chandler was concerned merely for the truth. Self- 
depreciatory insincerities were not for him. 
"The chorus we put to it was, 

I '"'I do berlieve, I will berlieve, 

That Jesus died for me; 
That on the Cross He shed Hia blood, 
From sin ter set me free.' 

They knoo it, and ought to, too, seein' as there was 
some old 'uns as used to upset Salvation Army open- 



210 SOULS IN KHAKI 

airs — the remains of the old Skeleton Army, you 
might say." 

He went on with the Order of Service. 

"I got out my little Testament and read 'em a 
piece. 'We'll 'ave John iii. i6,' I says: 'God so 
loved the world, that He gave His only begotten 

Son, that whosoever believeth ' You know the 

bit; it's one of my fav'rites. I put up Smith (he's a 
lot better scholar than me) to try and explain it. 
After that, 'e give 'is testimony, an' I give mine. 
Then come another hymn — one about 

" 'We 'ave no other argumint, 
We 'ave no other plea.' " 

What with the presence of the biscuit-tin, and 
the absence of surplices, altar, and lectern, no serv- 
ice could well have been more unlike Evensong, say, 
in the Established Church. But what of its results? 

"There'd been a lot of laughin' at the start — 
not much; and when I was readin' John iii. i6 some- 
body 'ad somethin' to say, only the others told 'im 
to 'old 'is row. After that they was nice and quiet, 
and there was a lot joined in the singin'. But be- 
fore we started on the second hymn, I says, 'Now, 
look 'ere, if anybody feels they 'ave got God in 
their 'eart,' I says, 'please step forward ter say you 
accept Him.' Before we was through with the first 
verse one came — a chap called Brown. The next 
was a Jew boy named Adolphus. We 'ad six oth- 
ers at that first meetin'." 

But were these results merely emotional and tem- 
porary? 

"It wasn't more than a month afterwards when 



SPIRITUAL' SUPREMACY 211 

a private in the R.A.M.C. was askin' why our lot 
didn't carry on rough the same as they used to. 
'That's all stopped now,' I says. 

" 'Oo stopped it?' says 'e. 

" *The Lord Jesus Christ,' I says. 

" ' 'Ow d'yer mean,' says 'e. 

" 'Why, it's like this 'ere,' I says, 'I'm a Salva- 
tionist, and my chum is much the same, and wc 
'old meetings in the barn.' " 

And next minute he was talking about something 
else. 

"I've been by myself all the afternoon, and — wot 
d'yer think? I've been so 'appy I didn't 'ardly know 
wot to do. Fust I goes through all my fav'ritc 
hymns, Icadin' off with 'I'm climbing up the golden 
stairs to Glory.' Then I gets out my Testament 
and reads a very interestin' place — Acts xii. You 
know — about Peter bein' put in prison and the angel 
of the Lord comin' and makin' 'is chains fall off of 
'im. Then I turned to John x. That's where it says 
'I am the Good Shepherd; the good shepherd giveth 
his life for the sheep.' That's eleven of ten; and, 
ycr know, I do call that a fine bit." 

For Chandler is one of the most appreciative pos- 
sessors of a Bible that it was ever my privilege to 
meet. I began to discern a halo round the plum- 
pudding. But the account of his happy afternoon 
awaits the final touch he gave it: 

"Then down I goes on my 'ands and knees and 
'ad a good pray with the Lord." 

And thus that Stepney Causeway boy was an ex- 
alted example of the predominant spirit at the Front 
— in the midst of the war he was absolutely at peace. 



212 SOULS IN KHAKI 

The ''predominant" spirit, I say. For, of course, 
the picture has its other side — its awful other side. 
I saw that other side, not at first hand, but through 
the eyes of several Salvationists. With a sort of 
heart-broken sternness, they would tell of some re- 
bellious one with whom they had pleaded in vain. 
Self-willed and a mocker, given to oaths and filthy 
conversation, he committed the supreme sin of re- 
fusing to acknowledge himself as a sinner. Reiter- 
ated entreaties and warnings were alike disregarded; 
the alternative to salvation was deliberately chosen. 
With pitiful and affrighted eyes, the Salvationist 
would tell how an appalling death came swiftly to 
seal that choice. 

But tragedies of the soul belong to a depth of 
sadness that the human mind cannot fathom. 

Let our thoughts turn finally to the glorious ma- 
jority. At the Front our faithful champions find 
that the spirit is supreme and the flesh subordinate. 
The grocer's assistant and the earl's son stand shoul- 
der to shoulder as mud-bedabbled brothers sharing, 
in return for their common sacrifice of earthly joys, 
the wondrous compensation of divine guardianship 
and consolation. 

To that fact the investigator's personal experi- 
ences all pointed. Ringing in my memory as I re- 
crossed the English Channel were these words: 

"I know that His arms are round me." 

Two lads in the firing line had actually spoken 
those words. Many others made the beautiful con- 
fession by implication. 

THE END 



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